Roll Call
by LJ9
Summary: Slices of life with the team. Chapter 35: Thor and Steve go out on the town for St Patrick's Day.
1. Ringtones

**Fair warning: These are just sad excuses to post the Avengers-related lists that popped into my head. They are all completely dumb, and there is neither plot nor point to any of them.**

**Disclaimer:** This particular chapter is Things I Don't Own central. Pretty much if it's capitalized I did not make it up nor own it.

(This one takes place between "The Chassis" and "Hit the Dance Floor," if you've read those.)

* * *

Tony heard trumpets blaring from the living room. Then a female voice said, "Hey, Steve, what's up? …Well, when you call, my phone shows it's you, and a special song plays." There was a pause. "I'm pretty sure you haven't heard it yet, but I'll play it for you later. Yeah, see you then. Bye."

"Really, Darcy? Your ringtone for Steve is 'Goody Two Shoes'?"

Darcy looked up at Tony, where he leaned against the wall. "If the shoe fits," she answered, straight-faced, and he rolled his eyes.

"Not that I care, but what are you doing in my home?"

"Waiting for Thor. There's a medieval festival up at Fort Tryon Park, and I can't wait to see his face when he sees teenagers dressed as fairies."

"Just make sure he doesn't go medieval on anybody."

She rolled her eyes. "Obviously."

"So is Steve the only one who gets a 'special song'?" He unslouched to make air quotes, and walked toward where she sat.

Darcy tossed her phone across. "Knock yourself out." He caught it and looked it over critically, noting the model and its dings and scratches.

"You need a new phone."

"Then make it so, Mr. Stark."

"Aye-aye, Captain Picard." He scrolled down her contacts list, but didn't see his name. "Where am I? I don't see me."

"You're the super-genius; figure it out."

Tony did not hesitate to flip her the bird. Then he pulled out his own phone and tapped the screen quickly. Darcy's phone suddenly channeled Ozzy Osbourne and screamed, "All aboard!"

"'Crazy Train'?"

"Figured the Sabbath song was probably played out."

"And I'm 'Antonio.'"

"Do you want to be something else? You can change it."

"Nah, it's not as bad as your name in my phone."

"Why? What did you do?"

"Hey, don't blame me. You're the one who got into the Patrón at Thor's welcome-home party and then decided you should show up in my phone as 'Drunk-ass Darcy.'" He held it up for her to see.

"I still haven't apologized to Steve for that night…"

Tony fixed her with a look. "I think you've made up for it. So. You've got Antonio and 'Crazy Train,' Steve and Adam Ant—what's his label, Esteban?"

She shrugged. He scrolled a bit before finding the name. "'Stevie Wonder.' Awwww."

It was her turn to flip him off.

"What's with the nicknames?"

Darcy stared at him and spoke with exaggerated slowness. "I have all the Avengers' numbers in my phone. In the unlikely event I lose it, do you _want_ random fanboys or reporters calling you 24/7? Solution: instead of having 'Tony Stark' out there for the world to see, I have 'Antonio.'"

"Smart girl. Thank you for your consideration." She saluted lazily, and Tony turned his attention back to the phone.

"Why's Clint in all caps?"

"For unfortunate font purposes."

"I don't know this song."

"Hang your head in shame, you philistine. It's 'Birdland.' Maynard Ferguson version."

"Well, aren't we cultured. But you are not old enough to remember Uncle Brucie."

"My dad is, though."

He clutched at his chest in agony. "Right in the ego. Heh, 'Wild Thing.' Is this—is this _my_ AI as one of your contacts? And you call him _Jarhead_?"

"What? He's an emergency contact-type person. Entity."

"Is that Sting?"

"Yeah, it was gonna be 'Englishman in New York,' but it's not as attention-getting as 'Message in a Bottle.'"

"Wait, let me guess what song you have for Thor. It must be 'Thunderstruck.' Of course it is. And the best you could come up with was 'Brodinsson'?"

"I was having an off day."

"Does it play the Russian national anthem when Natasha calls?"

"Natasha doesn't call, but if she did, it'd play 'Foxy Lady.' What? Don't tell me you wouldn't use it if you'd thought of it first."

"She must be 'HBIC.'"

"Oh, she definitely is."

"I don't see Pepper's number in here, unless it's under some fiendishly convoluted name."

"Nope, I just don't have it."

"Here. As another emergency contact-type person. I recommend saving it as Pottsie, in a subtle homage to 'Happy Days.' And maybe a nice little bit of 'Strawberry Fields Forever' as the ringtone."

"Thanks." Tony finished typing and then tossed the phone back to Darcy just as Thor emerged from his room.

"My pleasure. Now get out of my apartment."

* * *

When a courier delivered Darcy her brand-spanking-new Stark Industries phone the next day, the contacts list was already programmed.


	2. Nicknames

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel characters used here. I also didn't do the actual research for these names; see below.

These are all real Old Norse bynames from the _Landnámabók_, an ancient census-type document. I found them through the excellent research of Sara L. Uckelman (aka Aryanhwy merch Catmael) at ellipsis dot cx / ~liana / names / norse / vikbynames dot html. I've probably made some mistakes, especially concerning gender, so please excuse that.

* * *

Of course it was Natasha who noticed first. "What'd you call me?" she asked casually, but the tilt of her head said the answer had better be something flattering and respectful.

Thor's eyebrows drew together. "Natasha _in_ _rauđa_. It merely means—"

She stopped him with a raised hand. He watched while she though, eyes moving as if reading an invisible page. After a moment she said, "Red? Just Natasha the Red?"

"Just so," he answered with a nod. Then he grinned, and after that everyone noticed.

* * *

Tony used random nicknames a lot, but at least those were in English. When Thor used them, the only one everybody could understand was when he called Jane _lamba_. They all just had to trust that when he laughed and called them "Clint _skytja_" or "_Spak_-Bruce" he was being comradely and kind, and not actually mocking them.

Eventually, not being able to understand drove Natasha a little crazy. So she waited until he used a name that she thought would be easy to spell—_stjarna_ wasn't too hard, and the alliteration with Steve made it easier to remember—and then turned to the internet.

The next time they were all together, she passed around copies of the list she'd made. Darcy took one look, demanded, "You called me WHAT?" and launched herself at Thor.

* * *

Some of the Things Thor _mjǫksiglandi_ Has Been Calling Us

_bogsveigir_ archer  
_gleđill_ fun, good cheer  
_hersir _ chieftain, leader  
_hvalmagi_ whale-might  
_járnsíđa_ iron-side  
_knarrarbringa_ merchant-ship bosom  
_in kyrra_ gentle, quiet  
_lamba _ lamb  
_mjǫksiglandi _far-travelling  
_in rauđa _ red  
_skytja_ marksman  
_smiđr _smith  
_Spak_- wise  
_stjarna_ star  
_þegjanda_ silent


	3. Plans

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Marvel characters named herein. I also do not own "Big," Rye Playland, the Radio City Rockettes, or anything else you might recognize.

If anyone wants to write any of these, they're all up for grabs, except Playland.

* * *

JARVIS, we're making a list.

_Ready when you are, sir_.

Title: Steve's Old-Timey To-Do List, as Dictated by Tony.

First: Coney Island—I think he's taking Darcy, but we'll put it down anyway. Boardwalk, hot dogs, rides.

Next, visit the Met. Pepper will go with him.

Apple-picking—Barton cannot go anywhere near this one. He cannot even know. We don't need any William Tell reenactments.

_Is it wise to volunteer others for these activities, sir?_

I'm not volunteering anyone; these are merely suggestions. There's an implied question mark after every name. Except mine, of course.

_I quite forgot about implied punctuation. How careless of me_.

Learn to speak a foreign language—Natasha (if available) or Banner. He does speak something else besides English and Hulk, right?

_I believe he does, sir._

Great. Okay, what's next... Horseback riding—Thor, no question. Apparently his dad has an eight-legged horse, so regular ones should be no sweat. And I'm not supposed to ask about Loki and horses, so we'll look that up directly after this.

Dodger home game—**definitely** me. I can hear your disapproving silence, JARVIS, and it's not my fault if he doesn't know they play in Los Angeles now.

Super Bowl party! And a live game—I'll talk to Rhodey and see if he can scare up some invites to the Army-Navy game.

_Even though he is a member of neither service?_

He knows people, though. He's no me, but he can still network.

Camping—the other boys can handle that. I've spent enough time roughing it already.

A real old-school county fair with the chickens and the corn and the tractors—there's got to be one somewhere close, so run a search in New York state and Pennsylvania. Not New Jersey, though. Thor would like that, too, although someone responsible will have to go with them to make sure they don't come back with a bull to roast or a Clydesdale.

Last one: Thanksgiving and Christmas with the whole gang. Parades and football and trees and lights—we'll go all out, old-fashioned style. And we'll take him to the Radio City show. Remind me to see about getting backstage to meet some Rockettes.

_For you or for Captain Rogers, sir?_

I think you know the answer to that.

_Anything else?_

That's all I got for now.

_Then may I make a suggestion, sir?_

Is it a smartass one?

_I assure you it is entirely sincere and offered with the best intentions_.

Hit me with it, then.

_I suspect Captain Rogers would quite enjoy Rye Playland_.

Like in "Big"? You're absolutely right. JARVIS, I knew I programmed you for a reason.

_Thank you, sir_.

Add that to the list. We'll all go. It'll be great.

_Are you sure it's a good idea for the whole team to go? Perhaps just you, Ms. Potts, the Captain and Miss Lewis…_

And deny the rest of them the chance to win giant stuffed animals and gorge on fried food? It'll be fun, don't worry. Right, save the list and send it to Pepper with a request for additions. I gotta go, I'm past fashionably late to meet with the board.

* * *

_Sending a group of super-powered individuals to an amusement park…What could possibly go wrong?_


	4. Done and Done

**Drabbles from Steve's Old-Timey To-Do List**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything you recognize, including the X-Man who pops in.

(I guess I lied when I marked this story as complete. My bad.)

* * *

"Oh, here." Tony tosses Steve a box. "I think you might need this."

Inside is a camera. It looks like an old one (he's almost gotten used to saying "old" instead of "from my time"), but when he flips it on he finds it's the new (to him) digital technology.

He looks at his friend, surprised but pleased. "Thank you, Tony."

Stark waves off the gratitude. "Forget about it. I expect lots of blackmail-worthy pictures in return."

The first photo is Tony with welding goggles on his forehead, grimy and smug and flashing a peace sign in the middle of the workshop.

* * *

On a late summer morning they take the N train out to Coney Island. They visit the museum and eat at Nathan's, but mostly just stroll along the boardwalk hand in hand, enjoying the salt air. Steve points out things he remembers and tells stories about the Brooklyn of his youth. Every time he pauses too long Darcy squeezes his hand, and he's thankful she's there to ground him in the present.

Before they leave, Darcy insists they ride the Wonder Wheel. "It's traditional," she says, and he's not sure what that means until she kisses him when they reach the top.

* * *

They arrive at the Metropolitan Museum of Art just as it opens. The galleries are empty and quiet, and Steve is glad that Pepper is there. She is tranquil and graceful, and he knows she will appreciate the art as much as he will.

In the Great Hall she asks, "What would you like to see first?" There are thousands of pieces in hundreds of galleries, and he wants to see it all, if they have time.

He checks his watch. "When do you need to leave?"

Pepper smiles warmly, handing him a map. "We have all day."

* * *

Logan joins them somewhere in the Canadian woods.

"Rogers. You haven't aged a day."

"You either," he replies, shaking hands and making introductions. Logan squints at Bruce, clearly wondering why the scientist is there.

They drink beer and shoot the breeze. Things are going fine until a bear appears at the edge of the clearing. Before Clint can reach his bow, the Hulk roars out and lunges at the now-terrified creature, which scampers away. The Hulk follows, and Logan finally looks impressed.

When they get home, Tony regales them with reports from hunters of a creature "like Sasquatch, but green."

* * *

Although nobody cares about who's playing in the Super Bowl, they watch it anyway. Tony insists they make bets not only on who wins and by how much, but also on penalties and commercials and how bad the halftime show is. Steve isn't sure how something like that can be made into a bet, but as usual Tony Stark finds a way. By the end of the game Clint is forbidden from climbing anything (non-job-related) for a week, Tony has to go a day without spending any money, and they're going to need to find Thor a dress to wear.

* * *

They decide Spanish will be the most useful language for him to learn, but they don't teach Steve in the most useful way. Bruce teaches him things like "Ten pounds of ground beef, please" (they go through a lot of meat when Thor's around) and "This person needs a hospital." Natasha teaches him to say "Put the gun/knife/car down" and "You don't want to do that." Tony teaches him "I only want the good drugs," although he tells Steve it means "Say no to drugs." By now Steve knows better than to believe him anyway.

* * *

Thor talks his way onto a draft horse at the county fair and rides around the arena like the world's greatest equestrian lumberjack. Steve's never had much experience with farm animals, but he's pretty sure horses that big aren't supposed to be that nimble. Both horse and rider look forlorn when they're forced to part.

Thor's mood improves when they visit the penned show goats, and he tells Steve about his goats Tanngrisnir and Tanngiost. He spends nearly an hour talking to the animals until Steve drags him away.

Luckily, Thor is also easily distracted by fried pickles and frozen lemonade.

* * *

Clint finds out about apple-picking and demands to go, even when told he can't take a bow. Natasha joins them just in case Clint gets out of hand.

In the orchard Steve points out the sign that prohibits climbing the trees and Clint grins, shoving the bushel into Steve's hands and darting up the nearest trunk. They don't see him again until it's time to go, although the occasional apple thunks down from above, and a particularly well-aimed one bounces off of Natasha's backside and into the basket.

"You're dead, squirrel boy," she hisses, and plots her revenge as the tree laughs.

* * *

Steve loves New York at Christmas. They sit in Rockefeller Center staring up at the tree for nearly an hour; Tony endures it for the look of wonder on Cap's face. Then they look at the animated displays in department store windows and he makes a note to make sure they watch "A Christmas Story."

He'll claim the high point of the day is meeting Katrina, a Rockette who can kick clean over Tony's head, and he'll forever cherish the picture of her demonstrating just that. But it's Steve's joyful expression all day long that Tony really treasures.

* * *

Darcy's phone pings with a message from Antonio. It's a picture of the two men grinning in the California sunshine, Tony in black Ray-Bans and Steve wearing his aviators and a blue Dodgers cap, a baseball diamond in the background. _Dodgers winning!_ Tony relays, but the only reason either of them care about who wins is because Steve cares. She smiles and goes back to her reading.

There's another ping a moment later. She knows without looking that this one is from Steve. _Wish you were here_.

She's glad no one is around to see her inexcusably sappy grin.


	5. Movies

**The Perfect Movie**

**Disclaimer:** I so don't own any of these movies.

**Spoilers ahoy:** If you haven't seen "LotR," "The Princess Bride," "Goonies," "The Wizard of Oz," the Indiana Jones movies, "Adventures in Babysitting," or "Enchanted," you might want to come back to this later.

**WORLD-WARP WARNING, WITH SPOILERS:** In "Adventures in Babysitting" (coughavailableonYoutubecough), the youngest character idolizes comic-book Thor, wears a replica of his helmet, has a poster of him, has a miniature Mjolnir, and believes another character is Thor in disguise. I know this would _probably_ be impossible in the "Avengers"-verse, but I couldn't pass up the chance to use it. Please don't ask me how it works, 'cause I got no idea.

* * *

_I have the perfect movie. Everybody be there._

The problem is that "perfect" is so subjective. Clint thinks a "Lord of the Rings" marathon is perfect. He's almost right, except he can't stop geeking out about the archery and Tony can't help making fun, is _physically incapable_ of stopping himself. It finally gets to be too much for Clint when Tony suggests he grow his hair out like Legolas. "But you'd look so fetching with a little braid," Tony says, just before Clint launches himself across the living room at the other man.

Pepper thinks "The Princess Bride" is perfect. Even Thor laughs at the right parts, and everyone can appreciate the heroism and the fight scenes. But then Tony gets the good idea to recreate the battle of wits, tournament-style, using shots, and then Bruce is trying to talk Tony out of making a holocaust cloak from a bed sheet soaked in alcohol and Natasha posits that being the god of thunder doesn't actually make Thor fireproof.

Bruce thinks "Goonies" is perfect. Steve knows how Mikey feels, and Tony and Bruce understand Data's struggles. Thor happens to be wearing his Superman t-shirt that day, and when Sloth reveals he's wearing the same one, the Asgardian thinks the logo represents the Goonie, not the superhero. They have to pause the movie so Darcy can explain that she wasn't making fun of him at all, and rues the day she taught him what a noogie is. Both scientists have tears in their eyes as Data's father says, "You are my greatest invention," and Tony slings his arm around Bruce's shoulders.

Steve still thinks "The Wizard of Oz" is perfect, especially when Darcy coos over the horse of a different color.

Natasha thinks Indiana Jones is perfect. Not so much the movies, just Jones himself.

"He's intelligent, sophisticated, well-traveled, and can handle a whip," she explains calmly. The last part earns several raised eyebrows. She doesn't point out that she also hates snakes.

The problem is which movie(s) to watch. Clint argues for the original trilogy but against "Kingdom of the Crystal Skull," as he feels it's an embarrassment to the once-great franchise. Bruce is against "Temple of Doom" as it's easily the least politically correct, and Willie Scott is annoying. Pepper points out that both "Raiders of the Lost Ark" and "Last Crusade" feature Nazi-affiliated villains, but Darcy counters that Steve will have to learn to deal with Nazis on film eventually, and besides, the idol scene at the beginning of "Raiders" is so iconic that Steve and Thor have to see it. Finally they settle on watching the first and third installments. Afterward, three of the five men resolve to find out how they'd look in a fedora.

Darcy thinks "Adventures in Babysitting" is perfect. She sits up straight and practically vibrates with anticipation. Most of the other movies seem like obvious choices, but nobody can remember much about this one, which makes her giggle maniacally. When the little girl appears in her helmet, Darcy squeals and claps a hand over her mouth; when it shows the poster in her room Darcy leaps off the couch, howling. She calms down until they reach Dawson's garage and Thor says indignantly, "That looks nothing like me!" Then Darcy laughs until she cries, body shaking, and everyone else gets too confused to finish the movie.

Jane thinks "Enchanted" is perfect. The surprising part is that she's right.

Before it's even halfway over, Thor says quietly, "This moving picture is wrong."

His girlfriend looks up at him, disappointed. She's been hoping everyone will approve of her choice. "How?"

"It says this realm of New York is a place with no happy endings." He looks around the room, at his fellow warriors, his friends, his lady, all looking content and healthy and safe. He smiles down at her. "Is not this a happy ending?"

It is.


	6. NYC

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own any of it.

Thank you for the reviews!

* * *

Thor liked the city. The shining towers reminded him of Asgard, but it was so different from where he'd grown up. It was a remarkable city, full of wonders, and if he spent the rest of his life there, he would never get tired of it and never cease learning new things about it.

He liked the food. There were tidbits from the whole of Midgard to be found in one place. It came from all sorts of places, from small carts on the sidewalks and hatches set into walls and crowded, noisy rooms and glittering banquet halls. There were spices such as he had never tasted, flavors of fire and earth and sweetness. And things had such amusing names: hot dogs were not made from dog, and pizza pie was not like apple pie.

He liked the parks. It was pleasant for the dwellers of the city to have a place to see grass and trees, to see the rock their homes were built on. The largest was a jewel from the air, sparkling with its lakes. The people loved it, gathering there to lie in the sun, to play their games, to glide over the ice in winter.

He liked the green giantess in the water to the East. She was stern and strong and wore a crown and forever held an inscribed tablet and a great golden torch. Steve loved her, too; he said she was one of the few things that had not changed from his time. He said she was called the Statue of Liberty, and represented freedom. Steve's eyes shone as he looked at the lady.

He liked the friendly ladies who loitered on the streets late at night, although he worried about their safety, and sometimes that they were wearing too few garments to be warm. But Bruce told him that those women hoped to lie with men for coin.

He liked the carriages around the park. His family had always been fond of horses, and it was a comfort to see them around. Sometimes he would stop and lay his hand upon their heads to speak a quiet word to them, of greetings and respect and the feeling of flying.

He liked the constant music. On every street, spilling from the shops, in the below-ground trains, there was always someone singing or playing upon instruments. In times of celebration they processed down the wide streets, playing horns and drums, and there was dancing and much joy.

He liked the many bridges. The rivers looked none too clean, but the bridges were solid. Three of them were strung with ropes of steel in graceful arcs. One of them was an old stone bridge with pointed arches, whose wires crisscrossed high above the river. Standing on the bridge was like standing in the midst of a spider's web.

He liked the languages he heard. He did not know that the realm had so many tongues. Some sounded like elves, some sounded like trolls, some sounded even like the old language of his home, and some sounded like no language he had ever heard before. He learned many new words, although his friends sometimes told him that some words were rude and would make others upset.

Most of all, he liked the people. Never had he seen such a variety. He saw skins darker than bold Heimdall's and skins paler than Darcy's and every shade in between. And there was hair the color of grass and midnight and jewels, and patterned robes and somber suits and clothing he had no words to name. There were busy people who lived in the city, and slow people who came to visit and stare. He marveled at them, loud and brash and terrible and lively and strong, and wondered how he could ever have thought the people of Midgard inferior.


	7. Rock'n'Roll

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters, song, or bands mentioned here.

Thank you for your reviews!

* * *

"_Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit_…"

Clint walked into the kitchen singing to himself. Steve and Thor sat at the table, sharing a large pizza.

"You should have been a skald with a voice as fine as that," Thor praised. Clint must have looked confused (and Steve definitely looked confused) because Thor added, "A skald is a singer of heroic tales."

Steve swallowed his pizza and said, "That song sounds kind of familiar. What's it called?"

"'Don't Stop Believing,'" Clint answered, reaching into the refrigerator for a bottle of water.

"Oh, yeah," Steve nodded. "It was on that show with the high school choir. 'Glee,' right?"

Clint stopped, one hand in the fridge, and fixed him with a basilisk glare. Steve didn't know what he'd done wrong, and sent a questioning glance to Thor, who shrugged and crammed some pizza crusts in his mouth.

"Go get dressed," Clint ordered, slamming the door. "We're going out."

* * *

"Aren't those a little tight?"

"They're perfectly comfortable. Besides, the ladies appreciate my rear view in them." Thor looked over his shoulder and grinned down at his "rear view." The jeans were black and he wore his favorite AC/DC shirt.

Steve, wearing less constrictive jeans and a short-sleeved dress shirt, felt a little suspicious. "What ladies?"

"All of them, I suppose," Thor answered casually. "But Pepper and Darcy and Natasha and Jane specifically."

"They've been…appreciating your rear?"

"Worry not, friend, they appreciate yours as well. All of ours, in fact. Darcy said she's never seen a group of asses this fine outside a donkey farm."

Clint came in just then, in dark jeans, motorcycle boots, and a tight black t-shirt. He ran a critical eye over the two men, quickly approving of Thor's outfit. Steve just looked too much like…Steve.

"Rogers, at least fix your hair."

His hands immediately smoothed over his head. "What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing. That's the problem. Looking like that, you're gonna come across as some rich guy slumming it. Everybody hates that guy."

Steve felt both flattered—no one had ever mistaken him for a rich man before—and alarmed. "What should I do?"

"Lose the button-down." He was wearing a dark red t-shirt underneath. "Good enough. Untuck that shirt. And let me see your head."

He leaned down and Clint ran his hands through Steve's hair, messing it up and then pushing it back until Steve had something like a mini pompadour. Clint stood back to gauge his work with a critical eye. Steve looked better, but still a little off.

"Try to look less alert and more jaded and contemptuous." Steve rolled his eyes. "That's a start. Keep working on it."

* * *

Bruce pulled the sticky note off the door to the lab. Tony read it over his shoulder.

_Taking the blonds out for the night. Back late._

"Aw, why don't we get to go?" Tony whined.

Bruce patted his arm. "Come on. We can get some Indian food and watch 'Top Gear.'"

Tony beamed. "You're the best, Brucie."

* * *

They stopped outside a set of steps leading into a basement club. Rough-looking types loitered outside, and Steve tried his best to feel at ease. Clint, now shaking hands with a man in a black shirt by the steps, wouldn't lead them into any actual danger. Before they filed down the steps, the assassin turned to his teammates with a feral grin.

"Boys, it's about to get loud."

The club was full of people and noise. Loud music was playing over the speakers, a band was setting up on the stage, and Clint led them to the bar, where he got three plastic cups of beer and handed them to the others. They stood in a huddle.

"We are here to learn about rock. The bands tonight are playing covers of famous songs. Listen and learn. Any questions, remember them and ask later. For now, relax and enjoy."

They turned to face the stage and stood waiting for the band to start. A woman in a tight red tank top strutted past, and all three stared at her. Clint smiled and put his arms around his friends' necks.

"And that, gentlemen, is the other reason you're here. Are you familiar with the concept of the wingman?"

* * *

The immersion program was the first step. The second was to provide them with the tools to continue their study. It took Clint a few days to come up with a good list and burn the CDs. He attached a track list and stuck a note on each one, explaining that it would be impossible to come up with a definitive list of rock songs, but these were a few iconic classics that they should know. The list included everything from the Kingsmen to Skynyrd to Clapton to the Who. Clint thought it was at least a good starting place for them.

Thor took to the music like a duck to water. It was loud and energetic, with driving drums, bright cymbals and furious guitars, like the sound of a feast on a battlefield in the midst of a storm. His only problem was trying to decide whether "Thunderstruck" or "Immigrant Song" was his favorite. Sometimes Clint thought he heard Led Zeppelin's howls during particularly spectacular thunderstorms.

It took Steve a while longer to get used to the new sounds. No surprise there; he was used to the more melodic tunes of the past, when you could still sing along to the dance music. Still, there had to be something in modern rock that he could get in to, if he just gave it some time. Clint knew he was coming around when he heard Springsteen blaring from the gym while Steve was working out, and he knew Steve was converted when he heard Cap jumping rope and singing "…_Baby, we were born to run_."


	8. Playland

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything you recognize, especially not the Marvel characters or anything from Rye Playland.

**Erratum:** I made a mistake in "Ringtones"; the oldies DJ is Cousin Brucie, not Uncle Brucie. My bad.

Playland is real, as are all of the rides mentioned (and the deaths Pepper alludes to). Part of "Big" and Mariah Carey's "Fantasy" video were filmed there. I haven't been there in a few years, but I've tried to depict the park fairly accurately. It's fun; I'd love to go back!

* * *

"Big" rolled into the credits and Tony bounded up from his seat, standing in front of the screen. "I hope you enjoyed that, because I have a special treat for all of you. Tomorrow, barring any alien invasions or acts of terrorism or Fury waking up pissy, we're going to Playland!"

In the silence that followed, Steve whispered to Darcy, "Where?"

"The place where he makes the wish! With the boardwalk and the rides…" He sketched loops and arcs in the air. "You'll love it. This is an officially mandated Avengers outing—"

"Just saying it's official doesn't mean it is," Natasha pointed out.

"—so don't try to skip it." Tony pointed at the two assassins and Bruce. "Especially not you three. Trust me. We'll have a great time."

* * *

He'd hired a spacious limo for the hour-long drive, and they piled in late in the morning. Tony seemed even more hyperactive than usual.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" Steve asked.

"Who could sleep? It was like the night before Christmas." Steve wondered yet again how Pepper could be so calm with Tony being…_Tony_ all the time, but she seemed legitimately excited, too.

Bruce raised his hand and said, "Point of information, you don't have to act like a child just because we're going to an amusement park."

"Well, _someone_'s got to."

"You didn't do anything crazy like rent out the whole park for the day, did you?" he asked.

"Thought about it, but then I figured we wouldn't get the true experience if there weren't other people around. Don't worry, BB, you'll be fine." Tony leaned over to pat Bruce's knee. "Really. That's not just the Red Bull and disregard for others' well-being talking. I promise."

Bruce hoped the others couldn't tell just how encouraged he was by Tony's confidence in him.

Clint had his sunglasses on and was making small movements with his fingers and wrists. Jane whispered to Natasha, "Is he okay?"

"He's focusing. He's got a plan to spend all day in the arcade, win lots of tickets, and get a huge, stupid—"

"Epic," he corrected.

"—_epic_ prize."

"Is that fair?" Jane asked. "I mean, he's, um, got special skills and training."

Natasha arched an eyebrow. "Of all the things to question our ethics over, I wouldn't think having an advantage at carnival games would be at the top of the list."

Darcy was trying to explain the idea of the amusement park to Thor, who didn't understand the concept of thrill rides. Of course the guy who could fly and summon lightning wouldn't get why a tilt-a-whirl was fun. "It's one of the ways regular people get to feel like you," she finally said, exasperated. "They get to feel like they're flying."

Thor nodded magnanimously, his hair pulled back in a braid. "All mortals desire to feel like the gods."

"I always feel like a god," Tony put in, and that argument lasted the rest of the way to Rye.

* * *

Outside the park Tony handed out tickets and plastic cards. "The cards have your points on them. If you need any more, find me and we'll get you more. Everybody got their phones? Great. Let's go."

Once they got through the gates, Clint headed directly to the arcade. "Should somebody go with him?" Bruce asked.

"He's fine. I'll check on him in a while." Natasha was unconcerned. "Where to?"

Bruce looked around. The others had wandered away—unsurprising, since they were all coupled up. "Um, I don't know. What would you like to do? Do you like roller coasters?"

"They're not my favorite thrill," she said. They started walking aimlessly.

"After some of the things you've done, I'd imagine they aren't even that thrilling."

"I wouldn't think you'd be a big fan of them, either."

"I've never been on one," he admitted. "I guess I never will. I'm probably not the ideal amusement park guest." He smiled, rueful. "You don't have to stay and babysit me, you know."

"Maybe I'm letting you babysit me."

"Sure," he scoffed. "Don't worry, I'll keep you from accidentally killing anyone."

"Ditto," she said. Only Natasha could make a perfectly neutral expression look like a smirk.

* * *

Thor frowned. "But the horses never go anywhere."

"No, just around in a circle."

"This seems poor sport."

"Well, it's meant for kids, not adults," Jane explained.

"But still you want to ride it."

"Yeah. It's nice. For some people, this is as close as they get to riding real horses."

Thor still looked skeptical. "Let's just watch, okay?" she suggested.

The conveyance slowed and stopped. Children and their parents clambered off, some of the kids demanding another ride. The next group of riders rushed on, racing to claim their preferred mounts. There were horses, but also wild beasts. Many of them moved up and down, though some were stationary. The children did seem to enjoy the ride; the majority of them smiled and waved. Out of the corner of his eye Thor saw Jane leaning on the railing and smiling. He resolved that he would suffer most any ignominy if it made Jane happy.

"What will you ride, my love?"

She broke out in a grin and didn't even have to think before she pointed to a dark brown horse with a lighter-colored mane. "That one."

Thor looked with longing at the passing horses decorated in armor, but his place was beside his lady. "Shall I ride the cream one?" he asked, indicating the horse next to Jane's choice.

"You'll look wonderful on it." She hugged his bicep, laying her head on his shoulder.

* * *

"I'm going to get so fat if I don't stop hanging out with Tony and the food he provides," Darcy said, licking her ice cream cone and not looking particularly concerned.

Steve was no dummy. "You've got a long, long way to go. But if you're worried about it…" He leaned over and took a big bite out of her scoop of mint chocolate chip.

"Hey!" He darted back as she kicked at him. "That was not fair, Steven!"

"I was just trying to help!" he laughed, still dodging kicks. "I'll buy you another one, okay?"

"Maybe later." She stopped kicking and moved until they stood toe-to-toe. After they'd made out in the park on their first date, Steve had cooled it with the PDA, saying he had to be a good role model and she could be in danger if any bad guys knew about her and blah, blah, blah and Darcy rolled with it because he'd looked all sincere and serious when he said it. But she wouldn't be Darcy if she didn't push the limits, so she looked up at him through her eyelashes and licked her lips. He responded by pressing his own cold lips against her cheek, and then blowing a raspberry. She shrieked and pushed him away, and he laughed again.

* * *

Clint narrowed his eyes. He rolled the ball in his hand. One more in the corner and he'd have a million points. He was aware of a kid standing nearby, watching with a ten-year-old's mixture of admiration and envy. One more in the corner.

He took a deep breath and crouched, arm back. With a fluid movement he brought his arm forward and released the ball, unconsciously holding his breath as the ball slid up the ramp and hopped into the hole in the right corner. As the counter racked up his million points, Clint threw his fists into the air, and the kid behind him cheered. He turned and high-fived the kid.

"How'd you do that?" the kid, with messy dark curls and an olive complexion, asked.

Clint hit the button and the skee-ball machine started reeling out tickets. "It's all in the release. Smooth and steady." He folded up the tickets and stuck them in his pocket.

"How come you stopped? You coulda kept going."

"I thought a million points was enough. And I didn't want to hog the game."

"Are you gonna play something else now?"

Clint stretched, arms pushed out straight behind his back and then raised over his head. He cracked his neck and looked around at the arcade. "I was thinking of trying the shooting gallery."

* * *

"What is this?" He stared at the pink wad of fluff that Darcy held out to him. "This is food?"

"I don't know if it qualifies as actual food, but you do eat it. It's cotton candy. It's just sugar, heated up and spun."

"It's quite pink."

Darcy pulled off a bit and popped it in her mouth. "Try some. I think you'll like it. It has no redeeming value, just like Pop-Tarts." She wiggled the cotton candy in front of his face.

If she compared it to Pop-Tarts, it couldn't be that bad. Thor pinched some off and placed it on his tongue. Darcy watched his amazed expression as the sugar started to melt. She knew he'd like it.

He reached out and pulled off a larger wad. Darcy shook her head and patted him on the cheek. "Come on, let's get another one."

* * *

They walked along the worn wood of the boardwalk, passing the fateful fortune-telling machine from the movie. A faint breeze blew across Long Island Sound, and Natasha breathed deeply of the fresh air.

"What would you wish for?" They'd been quiet for so long that the question startled her, and it took her a moment to think of an answer.

He must've taken her pause for offense. "Sorry. That's not really an appropriate question, is it."

"No, it's an entirely appropriate question, given where we are." Of course he meant it wasn't appropriate for the two of them to discuss, the assassin and the experiment gone wrong, because the answer should have been obvious: a normal life. Natasha knew enough of the world and herself to realize that she could never fit in to a normal life, not now, so it would be pointless to wish for it.

"I would wish for balance."

"Balance," he repeated. "That's a bit ambiguous. That would make a very different movie." He cast a quick sidelong glance and a smile at her.

There could only be one thing he'd wish for, but she asked anyway. Since there could only be one answer, he surprised her by saying, "I'd wish for the perfect pair of pants." She let herself laugh.

* * *

"Steve! Steve! Go-karts! Come on!" Tony grabbed Steve's arm and dragged him toward the kart track. Darcy and Pepper followed.

"Wanna race, Pepper?"

The older woman grinned. "You're on."

Pepper was a very strategic driver. Darcy wasn't surprised when she won, but Tony was; he spluttered and then challenged her to a rematch. It was a close race, but she triumphed again.

Tony jumped out of his kart, knelt next to Pepper's, and put up his hand to help her out. Then he stood, threw their joined hands in the air, and yelled, "The champion, Pepper Potts!" Darcy, Steve, and some confused bystanders clapped.

Pepper grinned at Tony, eyes dancing. "Does the champion get a kiss?"

"The champion gets whatever she wants." Tony obliged.

* * *

"Do you wish to have children?"

Jane's breath caught suddenly and she coughed, glad she wasn't eating anything. "What—_what_?"

"Children. You seem most happy observing the ones here, so I wondered if you desired to have any some day." Thor was being reasonable and patient and respectful, just like he always was with her, but it was still unnerving.

She started reeling out the automatic response that she gave nosy relatives who asked why she hadn't settled down yet. "Right now there's still so much work I have to do that I hadn't thought about it." Then she added, "But kids are nice. Kids would be nice," as her mind produced an image of a stocky toddler waddling across a grassy lawn before being scooped up by Thor. He would be an excellent father.

At the moment, he was relaxed, completely unfazed by the idea of having children with her, his arms stretched along the back of the bench. "When you are ready, let me know."

* * *

"Think we could handle one?" Bruce asked, looking at the paddle boats at the edge of the lake.

"Gosh, Bruce, I don't know," she replied, deadpan. "I'm not sure between the two of us we have either the brains or the strength for a plastic boat."

He laughed then, and she smiled, really smiled. Bruce paid for the rental and they chose a boat. He stepped in and without thinking extended a hand to help Natasha in. She took it, not commenting, but the look on her face was not offended.

They paddled around the lake, neither feeling much need to talk. Seagulls cawed and turned overhead; light glinted on the water around them. Natasha found that no matter how scary she knew the Other Guy was, she felt calm in Bruce's presence. Especially like this, with the breeze ruffling his hair, he seemed so harmless. While she knew she shouldn't think of him that way, she couldn't help feeling safe.

* * *

The kid had followed him over to the shooting gallery, so Clint started narrating. "The first thing you want to do is make sure you're comfortable with your weapon. These are light, and there's basically no recoil, so it's not a problem. Bring the weapon up and line the sights up with the target. Take a breath. Pull the trigger back smoothly, don't jerk it back. And keep your eyes open when you fire." He considered vaguely that maybe he shouldn't be teaching some random kid to be a crack shot, but doubted the kid would do anything crazy like grow up to be an assassin. He took a deep breath, kept his eyes open, and hit every target with a ping.

"Do that again," the kid demanded, eyes wide. Clint grinned.

"You got it."

* * *

"This is more like it!" Thor cried. Although it still traveled merely in a circle, this carousel was moving much faster. "This is a fitter pastime for adults."

Jane wasn't so sure. "Wow, it is going really fast."

"The sign says it is twice as fast as the other," Thor reported. "Let us join the line."

"Maybe I'll sit this one out."

"No, Jane! It will be fun. Please." He looked at her with puppy dog eyes that conveyed that he'd gone on the ride she wanted to go on, so it would only be fair that she go on the one he wanted to go on. She bit her lip, but nodded.

Thor loved it. He leaned over his horse's mane, holding tight to the reins, a wide grin on his face. Jane would have appreciated the sight if she'd been able to open her eyes. She knew that if her eyes were open she would feel even more sick than she already did, so she kept them tightly closed.

"Wonderful!" he cried as the ride ended. "Can we go again?" He looked over. "Jane? What's wrong?"

"I think I'm gonna puke," she moaned. With Thor helping her, she made it off the ride and to a trashcan before she lost her lunch.

* * *

"I don't know, Darce," Steve said, hands on his hips, looking up at the coaster. "The last time I went on something like this, I threw up."

"Yeah, but that was a while ago. You've done a lot of running and jumping and flying and swinging around since then. Besides, Mariah Carey managed to lip sync a whole song while she was riding this thing, so it can't be that bad."

"That's true."

She hid a snort, knowing he was agreeing to the first part, not to the part about the "Fantasy" video. "And it doesn't even have any loops."

"Indeed, there are no loops." He didn't really want to think about roller coasters with loops.

"So I think you can handle it."

"You're probably right."

"I usually am. Let's go." She grabbed his hand and they joined the line.

* * *

Tony slid his sunglasses on as they exited the Old Mill. "Where's Bruce? I've got a great idea."

So that's why he'd been so quiet. Pepper resisted the urge to roll her eyes but had to ask, "Is it really a great idea, or is it a Tony great idea?"

"Really? You're doubting my genius?" He didn't even put forth the effort to sound aggrieved, and she knew then that it was a terrible idea.

"Why don't you share this great idea with me before we find Bruce?"

He crossed his arms over his chest defensively. "I think he should hide out in one of the haunted houses and scare people."

Pepper crossed her own arms and stared at him. "That is _such_ a good idea—"

"I thought so."

"—that I think we should call Director Fury and ask his opinion about it. Or better yet, you can ask Bruce and see his reaction. Somehow, I don't think he'll agree."

Pepper knew that Tony only had to picture Bruce's disappointed face and he would realize what an idiotic idea it was. And he did, grimacing; but he still grumbled, "It's not _that_ bad an idea."

She took his hand. "Enough people have died at this place already. Come on, I want an Icee."

* * *

"Well, hey, Foster and Odinson." Pepper and Tony were holding hands and sipping Icees as they strolled up. Thor and Jane were sitting on a bench in the shade, Thor rubbing his lady—it was hard to think of her as his _girlfriend_, because who ever heard of a god having a girlfriend?—on the back. "Having fun?"

"We were, but Jane found one of the rides overstimulating." Tony raised an eyebrow, and Pepper elbowed him.

"I puked after we went on the Derby Racer," Jane said plainly.

"Are you feeling okay?" Pepper asked. "Do you want some water or a Sprite or something?" Jane shook her head.

"I had some water, thanks."

"We were going to go on the log ride. Maybe the water will cool you down. Care to join?" Tony offered.

Thor looked at Jane, who shook her head and said, "I think I'll hold off on the rides for a while."

"Then I will stay with you," Thor said stoically.

She smiled. "Are you serious? Go on the ride. I'll be fine."

"Truly?" Thor asked, hovering between concern for her and desire to go on the log ride.

"Truly." She smiled, and he kissed her cheek and joined the others. She heard Thor's booming laugh, mixed with Tony's whoops and Pepper's shrieks, as their log rushed down the slope and splashed into the water.

* * *

By unspoken agreement they ended up on the Ferris wheel just before sunset. They settled into the gondola, Darcy snuggled against Steve's side, his arm around her shoulders. As the wheel rose above the park, they saw gentle waves moving in the water, and Darcy thought somewhere below she heard Tony laughing.

Steve's hand on her face caught her attention. Sure enough, their gondola was at the top of the wheel. Her heartbeat picked up, but she tried to appear cool.

"Why, Captain Rogers. Are you going to kiss me?"

"I believe that's traditional, Miss Lewis." He stroked her lips with his thumb. "Besides, I've been waiting for this all day." Her breath caught in his throat as he lowered his lips, warm and gentle, to hers.

* * *

Clint had accumulated an impressive wad of tickets. He could certainly get the most epic prize they had—he'd always liked the idea of winning one of those humongous teddy bears, but it would look a little awkward if he didn't have anyone to give it to. Even if Natasha had been there, she wouldn't have any interest in a giant stuffed animal. The rush of winning started to fade as he considered the prize options.

The kid was still lurking in the background, eager to see what Clint chose. Clint didn't want to let him down, but there was just nothing that caught his eye. He turned to the kid. "What would you get?"

"Me? I don't know, man. How many tickets do you have?"

Clint shrugged. "A thousand." The kid whistled.

"Do you want one big thing or lotsa little stuff?"

"I was thinking one big thing."

The kid stepped up to the counter and squinted at the big-ticket items hanging on the wall. He started rattling off options. They finally settled on a medium-sized lava lamp that the kid proclaimed would be freakin' rad at night. There were enough tickets left over for a baseball cap; Clint pretended to be torn between a Yankees and a Mets one.

"Mets, man, come on!" the kid insisted vehemently.

Clint handed over the tickets and got both lamp and cap as the kid watched enviously. They turned away from the counter and left the arcade for the twilight outside. Clint felt like he should say something, and paused awkwardly for a moment.

"That was real cool. Thanks," the kid said.

"Nah, thank you." Clint held out his hand and the kid shook it firmly. Then, a little roughly, Clint stuffed the hat on the kid's head and shoved the lamp in its box into his arms. He spun around quickly, trying to make a clean getaway, but the kid caught him and threw his arms around Clint.

"Thanks. Really."

"You're welcome." Then the kid abruptly let go and ran off with his prizes, leaving Clint to shove his hands in his pockets and try to hide the goofy smile on his face.

* * *

They gathered near the water just before the fireworks started. Darcy had begged for a piggyback ride from Thor and had clung to his back as they crossed the park, reveling in the feeling of being taller than her friends. Now she slid down to the ground and stood next to him. Steve stepped up behind her and put his hands on the railing in front of her; she leaned back against his chest. Jane stood on Thor's opposite side, his arm around her tightly. Pepper and Tony held hands, and Tony slugged Bruce on the shoulder. Clint shrugged at Natasha as he walked up empty-handed. The fireworks exploded over them, and Tony looked at his people all lined up beside him.

"Did you get what you wished for?" Pepper asked him quietly.

He kissed her temple. "You know I did."


	9. Vacation

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

Apologies if I've totally ruined the Russian language (again). _Nasha_ should mean "our."

Thanks for all your reviews and favorites!

* * *

One day Natasha would like to take a real vacation. A real vacation would be one where she got to pick the destination and nobody shot at her. She didn't think that was too much to ask.

At the same time, she wasn't sure if there was anywhere in the world that would feel like a vacation.

Occasionally she thought about going back to Russia. There were a few things there that she remembered with fondness: tea and cakes, white nights, the churches. Although she wasn't religious, she still had to respect the churches, if only for stubbornly continuing to exist through wars and Communism and apathy. She had a dim recollection of angular saints riding against golden skies, the fog of incense, and pealing bells. But Russia would always be snow and vodka and cigarettes and violence, and not a place for a holiday.

She wondered what Budapest (or Dubrovnik, or Venice, or Prague, or a hundred other places) would be like to a tourist, someone who could stroll instead of run and who had only to worry about being on time for dinner reservations. She'd visited sites of great natural beauty and historic significance, and had never been able to appreciate them. She'd been to the Louvre, the Hermitage, the Tate Modern, but she couldn't remember actually seeing any of the art.

Natasha told herself she was not really missing much. She knew that she would never be able to really relax, even lying on a beach somewhere. She'd spent her whole life alert and aware; she saw threats everywhere; she couldn't imagine having nothing to do. Still, she wouldn't pass up an opportunity to try it.

She was not exactly surprised to find Happy waiting with a car as she left her building one day (just because she wasn't expecting it didn't mean she was surprised). He drove her to an office that turned out to be a travel agency and directed her to meet with a certain agent, who handed her a card.

_Happy birthday, _nasha_ Natasha!  
You are hereby entitled to a vacation, anywhere you want to go. Don't worry about work; the boss has agreed you deserve a break. Enjoy yourself!  
Love from the team_

It wasn't her birthday; it was a week before the anniversary of the first time she and Clint had met, when he'd saved her life, so it was close enough. With the travel agent's help she picked the most remote island that commercial flights could get to, somewhere out in the Pacific. There was still a cell signal, but it was weak; when she checked in she called Clint on the resort's landline to tell him she'd arrived and to leave an emergency number, just in case. She had her own hut built on a little platform over water too crystalline and blue to possibly be real, and every day was warm and sunny. Wind waved through palm fronds overhead and carried the scent of tropical flowers; everything was blissful and serene. Knowing that, at least for a while, someone else was tasked with saving the world, she floated in the gentle waves and felt weightless for the first time.


	10. Independence Day

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.

Look who nerded out in fanfic form again. This is a **_very_** simplified version of events, not taking into account American Tories or Native Americans or Canada or Lafayette or my boy Kosciuszko or lots of other stuff. I intend no disrespect.

Thanks for the reviews and favorites and suchlike. And to the anon who left the seriously amazing reviews of love: I appreciate you like whoa.

* * *

The library in the tower was mostly full of books about science and Howard Stark's archives, but it was usually a good place to get some work done because nobody spent much time there. Except today, for some reason; Thor was waiting relatively patiently for Darcy to finish an online assignment and Clint was hanging around touching everything because apparently he was extremely bored. But he was being quiet, and that was all she asked for until she got through this one…last…problem. With a sigh of relief she submitted the work and closed her laptop, saying, "I'm so glad tomorrow's a holiday and I have a legit excuse not to do anything."

"I have heard much about this holiday on the morrow. What is its significance?"

"It's Cap's birthday," Clint answered swiftly, a model of an atom in one hand.

Thor looked impressed. "And the whole of Midgard feasts in his honor?"

"Yep."

"_No_," Darcy corrected, glaring at Clint. She usually didn't mind pulling the wool over Thor's eyes, but this one was kind of a big deal. "Clint, can you go somewhere else while I give Thor a history lesson?"

"I don't see why I should leave. It's a free country," he said mulishly.

"Exactly. Get out." She drew herself up to her full height and pointed—it probably didn't help that the direction she'd dramatically flung her arm in was toward a window—but eventually he left, still pouting and still holding the model. "C'mere, bud," she told Thor, and as he ambled over to the big table she shoved her computer away and pulled down the big atlas, opening it to a world physical map.

"This is all Midgard. See, here are mountains, and there are deserts over in Africa, and here's the Amazon River. Looks pretty nice, huh?" She flipped the page to a political map. "Midgard's not just one thing, though; it's made up of lots of smaller areas we call countries. They're like kingdoms, except not all of them have a king."

His brow furrowed. "How can a kingdom have no king?"

"Many countries get to choose their own leaders. Like in the United States"—she circled the country with a finger—"the people get to choose the leader, and he's called the president."

"How do they know whom to choose? Do the pretenders engage in feats of arms, and the strongest becomes president?"

Darcy had to laugh a little, imagining the politicians in Washington having wrestling matches. "No, mostly they just talk a lot and we try to decide who's lying the least. It's not a perfect system by a long shot, but we do our best.

"Now when we talk about the Fourth of July being a holiday, it's only a holiday for us in the U.S., and it's really called Independence Day. About 400 years ago, people from different parts of Europe, but mostly England"—she tapped the country—"came here and settled. They started towns and farms all along the east coast."

Thor leaned closer to the map, peering at Great Britain. "This England is so small compared to your United States."

"It is. But back then, England was one of the richest, most powerful countries in the world. And it's still important today. You can't judge things based only on how big or small they are." She glared playfully at him.

"Yes, Darcy," he answered obediently.

"The English thought that their king and Parliament—that's a group of people who make laws—had the right to tell the people here what to do, what taxes to pay and all that. But people here didn't agree. They said that no one in the government in England was listening to them, and that it wouldn't be fair to send them money if England didn't care about what happened in the colonies."

Thor was the son of a king. The whole revolution thing probably wasn't going to go over well with him, but Darcy kept on trucking. "Some of the leaders in the colonies said that we should be a separate country. It didn't really make sense for people thousands of miles away to tell us what to do; even some English people believed that: one English writer, Thomas Paine, said 'Everything that is right and reasonable cries for separation.' Of course King George and Parliament disagreed, and taxation got worse, and the colonial leaders said 'Taxation without representation is tyranny!' Eventually enough people supported the idea that we should separate, and they wrote a letter to the king to tell him so."

"But he was their king! The people owed him fealty!" He looked upset, no doubt thinking of his own father back in Asgard.

Darcy shook her head. "They didn't see it that way. The whole feudal system was way over by then, so fealty wasn't even a thing anymore anyway. Lots of colonists thought of themselves as Americans, not English, and they were tired of all their money going to support wars way over in Europe. They felt abused by the government. So Thomas Jefferson wrote what's called the Declaration of Independence, and on July 4th, 1776, representatives of the thirteen colonies approved it. So now in the U.S. we celebrate the Fourth as the day we declared independence from England."

"And the king allowed this?" There was outrage in his voice, and Thor pounded his fist against the tabletop. "He allowed this…rebellion via post?"

"Of course not. We had to fight a war for our freedom. It took seven years, but in the end, the Americans won, and we became a new country." She couldn't help feeling proud, thinking of the colonists overcoming the odds against them, all those well-trained and well-equipped British troops and Hessian mercenaries.

Thor's expression, on the other hand, was grave, and maybe even a little disappointed in her. Ouch. "I do not know if I can celebrate such a holiday. It is a terrible thing to betray one's king."

"It is a terrible thing for a king to betray his people," she shot back. Darcy took a deep breath and continued more calmly, "I get where you're coming from, and I haven't explained it really well, but it's one of the most important events in our history. So if you can't deal with it, fly back to Asgard for the day. But at least read the Declaration of Independence for yourself first, and let the people who were there explain their actions. Deal?" She stuck her hand out.

His eyes blazed with anger. He should not have been surprised that brash Darcy would scoff at the bonds between ruler and subject, but that a whole mass of people should rise against their rightful king was abominable. Still, he was willing to try to understand her point of view, so he shook hands with her.

Darcy turned to the shelves and pulled down a thick history book. Leafing through it, she found the text and set the book in front of Thor. Then she took her laptop and left him to read in peace.

It wasn't overly long, and the style reminded him of some of the more boring writings from Asgard. Thor found himself nodding in agreement with some of the statements, and the list of grievances certainly bore reflecting on. And then he read a line that struck him as familiar:

_A Prince, whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people._

Darcy looked up when Thor came in. He wore the same thoughtful look she remembered from after he'd been in New Mexico a few days.

"It was a wise man who wrote this Declaration," he said quietly. "A country would be glad to have such strong wits in its service."

Darcy smiled. "Good old T.J."

He knelt humbly in front of her chair. "Darcy, I apologize for doubting you. I would be honored to celebrate this holiday with all of you."

"We're honored to have you. I'm glad you came around; I wasn't going to say anything, but Steve would've been pretty bummed if you missed his birthday. And you're gonna love the fireworks."

He did, of course, but not only for the colored lights and noise. Those were things he could have created himself. But standing on the balcony, surrounded by his fellow warriors, their profiles lit by flashes above the river, the fireworks were more than a pretty display. They reminded him of the story Darcy told him: of the power that the people of Midgard could wield when so they chose, of the strength of their resolve, of the determination of those who fought to protect their homes, of his own small place in their world. They reminded him of a nation's heroes past, and for that he loved them.


	11. Steve's Birthday Party

**Overheard at Steve's Birthday Party**

"No, Thor, you can't just enter the hot dog eating contest. They've been training for months. Of course you'd win, but—no, I don't want to know how many hot dogs you can fit in your mouth at once."

"Do we have any copper chloride?"  
"I think so…"  
"And we definitely have aluminum and carbon."  
"…No. You cannot make fireworks in the lab."  
"Of course we can, B! It'll only take five minutes."  
"No, Tony, wait…"

"That's quite a drink, Pepper."  
"Long Island iced tea. Want one?"  
"Isn't it a little early for a cocktail?"  
"Tony's already gone to blow something up, so no. Not at all."

"Hey Dar—oh, um…wow."  
"Hi, guys."  
"Nice bikini, Lewis. Ow! What was that for, Rogers?"  
"Don't stare. It's rude."  
"She doesn't mind."  
"It's true. Steve, would you be a doll and put some sunscreen on my back, please?"  
"If you put a shirt on, you wouldn't need sunscreen."  
"If you don't want to, I'm sure Clint will do it for me. Won't you, Clint?"  
"Sure thing, baby girl."  
"No! No, I'll do it."  
"Thanks, Steve! You're the best."

"JARVIS, you don't need to call the fire department. And you, Banner, don't say 'I told you so.' Just hand me a new shirt."

"What is this confection? It's strangely mobile."  
"That's Jell-O, big guy."  
"Of what is it made?"  
"You don't want to know. Just eat it."

"Augh! What the hell was that?"  
"Really, Tony? Are you five? You don't need to spit it out just because you don't like it."  
"It's a meatless burger."  
"Who has brought this atrocity into my home? This is an affront to nature and all that is right in the world."  
"They're mine."  
"I'm sorry, Dr. Foster, but that is disgusting. Don't elbow me, Pepper, it's true. What's the point of eating a burger that's not a burger?"  
"What's the point of killing and eating a defenseless animal?"  
"Aha! I like it when you show some spirit. Come on, I'll get you a drink. Don't worry, no defenseless animals will be harmed."

"I wasn't sure you'd come."  
"National holidays don't mean much to me. But it's Steve's birthday. I couldn't miss that."  
"I wonder if it was a coincidence that he was born on the fourth, or if it was something more."  
"Like destiny? I wouldn't think you'd believe in something like that."  
"Look around us and then talk to me about not believing in improbable things."  
"Touché. No, don't be sorry. You're right. I assumed too much. Trust me, Bruce: when I want you to apologize for something, you'll know it."

"I don't see why it's a bad idea."  
"Because I am not a mother possum and you are not my baby."  
"Possums don't fly."  
"That's beside the point, Red. Shouldn't you be more worried about how Barton's not fireproof?"  
"Eh."  
"You don't have to fly _through_ the fireworks (though that would be cool), just around them. I just want a close-up view."  
"You'll get a close-up view of a burn ward. And I thought you see better from a distance?"  
"Are you gonna do it or not?"  
"I will not be seen flying around with an archer clinging to my back."  
"Fine. I'll go ask Thor."

"Do you want ice cream or whipped cream on your pie?"  
"Both."  
"Ugh. Have I told you lately how much I hate your supersoldier I-can-eat-buttloads-of-whatever-and-not-gain-an-ounce metabolism?"  
"Nope."  
"I do. Well, I don't, since it means you look damn good. I just wish I had it, too."  
"You look damn good without it. Here, you've got some whipped cream on your lip."  
"Just kiss me already, you tease."  
"Don't mind if I do."

"Of course, Clint."  
"Whoa. Put that hand down, Thor. Why do you need Mjolnir? Is there an emergency?"  
"Clint wanted to fly around the fireworks, and asked if I could assist him."  
"Uh huh. Thor, do you know what fireworks are?"  
"No."  
"They're explosions in the sky. It would be dangerous to fly around them, especially for Clint."  
"I did not know."  
"It's okay. I think we'll be safer watching them from here. _All_ of us, right, Clint?"  
"…Yes, Dr. Foster."

"_Happy birthday, dear Steve, happy birthday to you!_"  
"Thanks, everybody."  
"Ladies and gentlemen, please raise your glasses in a toast to Steven Rogers, our Cap."  
"To Cap!"  
"To America. And to us."


	12. The Conference

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, especially not any sciencey stuff or anything Tony quotes.

Thanks to all the reviewers, and in particular Ellie, awesome reviewer of the day.

You get two chapters today, courtesy of all the time I spend on airplanes in the last two days.

* * *

"Heeeyyyyy, boss, I don't want to freak you out or anything, but the, um, blonds are here."

Jane's head snapped up from her notes to look in horror at her assistant. Darcy gave her a bright, fake smile. Just as Jane was about to insist that Darcy get them to leave, the emcee announced, "Please welcome Dr. Jane Foster!"

She walked onstage, smiling automatically. She'd known Dr. Banner was attending the conference, and when he'd mentioned it, Tony Stark had said he might tag along. Which was fine; Dr. Banner was genuinely interested, and Mr. Stark could probably control himself for the duration of her presentation. Both of them would be able to understand it, and they might even have some practical applications for her data. It was fine that she last saw them eating leftover pizza and playing Mario Kart at 7 AM on a Sunday when she'd been trying to sneak out after spending the night.

She'd almost made it when Stark had offered, "Pizza?"

Jane had started, dropped her shoes, and cursed. She'd turned and said, "No, thank you."

"You don't have to do the walk of shame, you know. We're all adults here. Nobody cares what you and Thor do as long as you keep it in the bedroom."

Jane had been mortified and thanked him again—for what, she had no idea—before leaving. On her way out she'd heard him say, "I think of it as the walk of pride, myself."

So it was one hundred percent completely fine that they were there, watching her present. They were sitting together, near the front and a bit left of center, and when they saw her Mr. Stark wiggled his fingers and Dr. Banner smiled his patient smile and she didn't feel any better, because the others weren't there.

Darcy wouldn't possibly do such a thing as lie to her right before her presentation, so they had to be out there somewhere. Jane scanned the audience, wondering why they would have come. Finally she saw them way in the back of the auditorium. When they saw that she'd noticed them, they both smiled, and Thor winked in what he probably thought was a supportive way. Jane just kept on smiling vaguely and began her talk.

* * *

Jane's lecture was probably really amazing, Darcy knew, but she kept looking at the back of the auditorium, where two blond heads leaned close together. Thor had his hair pulled back, which made her want to giggle. He probably thought it helped him fit in better, but there was really no way for the towering man to fit in at a science conference. Steve would fare better, though not by much.

Thor had an arm resting on Steve's near shoulder, and leaned into him, gesturing. Darcy glanced at the presentation; the slide was a picture of a nebula—after all this time, Darcy should've known which one, but it slipped her mind at the moment. She imagined that Thor was explaining about the world tree. It didn't look like Steve was paying all that much attention, though; he was staring at the photo in amazement. It occurred to Darcy that he'd probably never seen the kind of space pictures she'd grown up with in science class. She looked back at the slide, the dusty clouds and speckles of starlight and improbably bright colors, and felt maybe just a hint of the awe Steve must have been feeling at the sight. Even from a distance she saw his eyes shining, and she couldn't help smiling.

"Fuller and Wheeler theorized that the Einstein-Rosen Bridge was too unstable to allow light, let alone any other particles, to travel from one terminus to the other. Based on more recent evidence and observation, this theory has now been disproven," Jane said.

Thor leaned forward, eyes trained on his girlfriend. He looked intent, but also very proud; Darcy could see that even if he didn't understand everything Jane said, he believed it, and believed in her.

Darcy peeked at the fourth row. Bruce had a little furrow between his eyebrows and nodded slightly as he listened. Tony was tapping away at his phone; he paused and squinted up at some data on the slide before entering it into his device. The jerk would probably tell her afterward that he could've improved the visual aids; the thought made her wonder what a presentation at Stark Industries looked like. She bet he'd let her sneak in to see one if she was really that curious.

As Jane finally wound up her talk there was polite applause, laced with much more enthusiastic claps from the back. Thor sat beaming, and Darcy could tell he wanted to cheer but knew better. She slipped her phone out and sent a quick text: _Give us a few minutes after Q&A_.

Once everyone's questions had been answered, the emcee thanked Jane and announced a break before the next talk. A few audience members came up to talk to Jane. Darcy wished they'd go away, but this stuff was important to her friend, so she stood by and tried to control her fidgeting. When the last interrogator had left, Jane turned to Darcy.

"How was it?" She still sounded nervous, even more so than she had during the presentation.

"It was great! Two thumbs up," Darcy enthused.

"I can't believe they came."

"Did you see Thor's face? He was all, 'That's my lady.'" She imitated Thor's voice and swagger. "He's super proud of you."

Bruce and Tony joined them then. "Dr. Foster. Lovely job," Tony greeted, and Bruce nodded his agreement.

He was cut off from asking some genius-y question by the approach of Thor and Steve. "Jane, you were truly magnificent!" Thor took her hand and kissed it.

"I didn't know you were planning to come," Jane said, smiling.

"When I realized how important this was to you, I could not stay away." She blushed, like a big sap.

"Well, thank you all for coming," Jane said, oddly formally, sounding as if she were talking to strangers.

Darcy made at face at the awkwardness. She hissed at Jane, "The reception."

"Oh! Right. There's a small reception tonight, if you'd like to come. You don't have to; it's probably going to be really boring for you all, but I have to be there, so you can come if you want," she rambled.

Steve and Bruce exchanged glances, clearly intending to bow out, but Tony said, "You know me, Dr. Foster, can't say no to a party. We'll be there."

"I don't have anything to wear," Bruce pointed out, "and I bet the others don't, either."

Tony tapped his chin, appearing to think for a moment. "If only we knew someone with a large amount of disposable income." He raised an eyebrow at Bruce, who shrugged, resigned.

"What time's this shindig kick off?" Tony asked.

"Seven," Darcy supplied.

Tony checked his watch. "Fantastic. Plenty of time. Gentlemen, with me. Congratulations again, Dr. Foster." He swept away, leaving the others to say goodbyes and hurry after him.

The two women watched them leave. "Tell me that they're not going to start any fights tonight," Jane instructed weakly.

"Who here is going to want to fight with them?"

"Scientists always turn out to be either superheroes or supervillains."

Darcy shook her head in the old familiar my-boss-is-crazy way. "You've been watching too many movies. Come on, let's get some lunch."

* * *

"Best behavior, boys," Tony said, ignoring the incredulous looks from the other men. They stood just outside the hall where the reception was already taking place; Stark had insisted they not show up on time.

He'd also snuck one of Bruce's suits into his luggage before they left New York, so they'd only had to buy clothes for the other two. Thor looked resplendent but slightly uncomfortable in his black suit; in the shop he'd complained that it was too plain, and had only been somewhat appeased by the shiny red tie Tony had let him pick. Steve looked uncomfortable as well, but only because he'd seen the price tag on the suit he was wearing and it had shocked his growing-up-in-the-Depression sensibilities. He looked sharp in it, though.

Tony surveyed his handiwork with satisfaction. "If I do say so myself, we are a fine-looking quartet." He straightened Thor's tie and turned back to the door. "Let's rock."

Jane and Darcy stood with their backs to the door, apparently conversing with a third party. Both were wearing what looked to be fairly conservative dresses, Jane's burgundy and Darcy's black. Jane's hair was loose over her shoulders, and Darcy's was pinned in a demure chignon.

"And then the polymer broke down…" Dr. Stewart trailed off in the middle of what must have been a truly fascinating story and stared past the two women. "Is that…Bruce Banner?"

They turned to see the boys approaching. "Yes, it is," Jane answered with a smile. "Dr. Banner, this is Dr. Hendrick Stewart. Dr. Stewart, Dr. Bruce Banner."

Bruce looked a bit surprised at being introduced first, but shook the hand Dr. Stewart extended. "Pleasure to meet you. These are my colleagues, Tony Stark—"

"Tony Stark? Of Stark Industries?" The older scientist looked star-struck. "I have so many questions, for both of you; I don't know want to ask first!" He looked back and forth at the two men.

"Take your time, Dr. Stewart," Tony said, and Stewart started throwing out questions.

As the new acquaintances talked, the others had time to greet each other. "Jane, Darcy, you are the loveliest women here," Thor said gallantly. Darcy looked around the room.

"That's not saying much, but thanks."

"I enjoyed your presentation, Dr. Foster," Steve said. "I won't pretend I understood a lot of it, but Thor explained some things. I really admire all the work you've done."

Jane hadn't been expecting that. "I…thank you," she replied. "It was thoughtful of you to come."

"I'm taking any chance I can get to catch up, and I figured I might as well learn from the best."

"If you have any questions, about anything, I'm happy to answer them."

"I'll start making a list, then." Steve smiled.

"Come, Jane, let us toast to your success. Where is the mead?" Thor asked, searching the room. Jane laughed.

"I doubt there's any mead, but the refreshments are this way, my lord. Come on." She put her hand on his arm and pulled him toward the table, and he went more than willingly, leaving Steve and Darcy standing together.

"Hey," Steve said.

"Hey." She smiled at him, looking fine in his new suit and so sweet and humble.

"So… What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" He fixed her with the cockiest grin he could manage.

Darcy laughed. "Classic! I love it." She linked hands with him. "You are my favorite man."

He brushed the fingers of his free hand against the silver star hanging around her neck. "I kind of like you, too."

* * *

Bruce was surrounded by scientists all night. Sometimes Tony was nearby, but other times he was drawn away, debating pure research vs. practical application. He was always in sight, though, and Bruce felt strangely glad of it, even knowing there were no threats. Bruce's pockets quickly filled with business cards, and he handed out many of those Tony had made for him.

He met up with Tony at the refreshments table. "How's it going, slugger?"

"I feel so loved. It's nice." Bruce sipped his soda. "How about you?"

"Got in some arguments, got some digits. Not too shabby." They surveyed the room together. "Does Thor know that he's a trophy boyfriend?"

He certainly did stand out among the conference attendees. "Somehow I don't think he minds."

Steve and Darcy joined Bruce and Tony by the refreshments, and soon Thor and Jane did as well. "This has been the only conference where I wasn't awkwardly hit on," the latter said. "Maybe you should come to all of them, Thor."

Tony looked at the group. "Are we ready to blow this popsicle stand or what? Not that it hasn't been scintillating, but it's kind of missing the point of a party. I say we go find something more interesting."

Bruce looked at Jane. "Dr. Foster?"

"I've spoken to everyone I need to. And honestly—" she glanced around her and lowered her voice "—I'm a little tired of talking about astrophysics."

"That's what we need: a little less conversation and a little more action." Tony's eyes shone. "I know just where to go."

An ostentatious Hummer limo waited outside. The driver opened the door for them. "Get in," Tony directed, and they piled in obediently, if a little curiously. Tony spoke to the driver briefly before he too climbed in the back.

"Where are we going, Tony?" Bruce asked.

"There's something we need to look at." Apparently Tony was doing his annoying pseudo-enigmatic thing. Jane wasn't sure she could deal with it.

"Could you be a little more specific, Mr. Stark? I don't feel up to too much excitement right now. And by excitement I mean trouble. It's been a long day."

"I am shocked that you have so little faith in us, Dr. Foster."

"There is no us there, Tony. She just has no faith in you," Darcy pointed out.

Self-righteously he went on, "We do not cause trouble, nor can we be blamed if it finds us or vice versa."

"Besides," added Bruce, "that's why we brought Steve, to make sure nobody got out of hand."

Darcy pouted at Steve. "Aw, I thought you came to see me."

"That's 75% why I came."

"Only 75%?"

He shrugged and Darcy whacked his shoulder. He rubbed the spot and relented. "Okay, 80."

"But where are we going?" Jane demanded.

Before Tony could protest further, Thor asked, "Jane, do you not trust me?"

"Well, yeah—"

"And I trust Tony. Be tranquil. All shall be well."

Jane relaxed under Thor's arm and tried her best to put aside her not inconsiderable doubts about trusting Tony. Thor had a point. And, she told herself, she and Darcy were with four superheroes. If she didn't feel safe with them, there was really no hope for her.

A few minutes later the limo pulled over, tires crunching over rocks, and stopped. Tony stood up as best he could. He opened the moonroof a crack, peered upward, and said, "This'll do. Everybody out!"

"Where are we?" Bruce asked, climbing out. There was nothing there—not just nothing worth looking at, but nothing at all, apart from a few scrubby little bushes and some short cacti in the sand that stretched away from each side of the road. When the driver turned off the headlights, there was nearly complete darkness.

"This is the middle of nowhere. It's kind of ominous. Are you planning to whack us, mob-style?"

"Shut up, Darcy. And look up."

As one they lifted their faces to the sky. In the middle of nowhere, far from the lights of any city or even any other cars, the sky was scattered with uncountable stars. The Milky Way stretched vaguely pinkish toward the horizon. Thor murmured something that no one could translate but everyone felt.

"You can talk about it all day long, with slideshows and graphs and data up the wazoo, but there's nothing like seeing it in person," Tony said, sounding quietly content.

"I've never seen so many stars," Steve whispered in awe. "It's amazing." He grasped Darcy's hand, like he was afraid he would drift off into space if not anchored to the earth somehow.

Bruce's lips moved as if in prayer as he silently named stars and constellations and planets.

Thor's expression was one of wild delight. When Jane saw it, she thought he had never looked more like a god than with starlight sparkling on his face and a proud smile on his lips. With no regard for his new suit he lay down in the dirt, arms spread wide, drinking in the galaxy above. One by one all of them, even Tony, followed his example and dropped to the ground, where they lay as if struck down by beauty, and worshiped and wondered and wished.


	13. Zurich

**Disclaimer:** I wish I owned any of it, particularly a Veyron.

Natasha is actually a diminutive form of Nataliya.

* * *

Zurich sparkled in the late summer. Tony strolled into the party fashionably late, fashionably tuxedoed, and less fashionably alone. It was some international scientific charity thingy that Pepper had insisted they attend, but at the last minute a board thingy had come up and she couldn't make it. So he went and tried not to look too bored.

As it was a charity event, the organizers had, in the spirit of equality, set up both bachelor and bachelorette auctions. That could be interesting. Tony worked the room, chatting with various scientists and heads of NGOs and such, all the while keeping an eye out for the bachelorettes. Pepper had left him alone, so he could at least examine the goods. There were certainly some lookers, mostly stereotypically Swiss rosy-cheeked blondes in haute couture, but one in particular captured his attention.

There was something familiar about the girl. She was fairly young, with pale skin and full red lips; unlike most of the other women in the room, her hair, black or nearly so, hung loose, past her shoulders. She wore a sweet, almost shy expression. All that plus the royal blue dress made her look like Snow White. Still, that didn't explain why he thought he knew her. Until she turned her head in his direction and then, hazel contact lenses or no, he could not fail to recognize Natasha.

Although she could not have failed to recognize him, her expression didn't change in the slightest. He marveled at the way she could look so innocent after all she'd seen and done. Pretending to be an administrative assistant at Stark Industries was one thing, but this was a whole other level. She carried on her conversation with some stuffed shirt, even managing to look interested in whatever he was undoubtedly droning on about.

He was just wondering if he should go over and make a nuisance of himself when Tony's phone buzzed in his breast pocket. He pulled it out, moving to a balcony to answer. On the other end, Steve sounded worried.

"Clint left a note for you, but something spilled on it and I can't tell if it says 'Bid on Nat' or '_Don't_ bid on Nat.' Does that mean anything to you?"

Tony glanced over his shoulder back into the ballroom. "Oh, it means something all right. I assume you've already tried calling Barton?"

"I left a message, but I think he's working. Do you want me to call the Director?"

"No, I'll figure something out."

"Sorry, Tony."

"Don't sweat it. Catch you later."

That cinched it; time to make a nuisance of himself. By that time, though, the bachelorettes had been hustled off somewhere prior to the bidding beginning. Fortunately for Tony's short attention span, but unfortunately for his orders, the girls were to be auctioned off first. They paraded across the stage in order; Natasha was #6. The first woman went for a scant hundred euro, though the audience warmed up for the next girl.

Natasha was introduced as Anna Weiss, graduate student in art history (of course). There had to be some way for her to let him know what to do. She looked out at the crowd, smiling, curious but also obviously somewhat anxious about the proceedings. When he was sure she saw him, he drummed his fingers against his chest, right on the arc reactor. That seemed a fairly obvious way to ask _Me?_

She flicked her head side to side almost imperceptibly. Well, that was easy, Tony thought; the whole spying thing couldn't be as hard as they made it sound. He relaxed and watched Natasha—Anna—while the auctioneer extolled her charms. Then the bidding began, at an almost insulting 75 euro.

It climbed fairly steadily, until only two bidders were left: a florid man with a slight paunch, and a tall one about Natasha's age with a nose that'd been broken one time too many and a dangerous look. Bachelorette #6 seemed flattered by the rising bids. When the crooked-nosed bidder finally dropped out at 525 euro, though, her eyes widened fractionally. Tony glanced at the man, wondering if he was a mark, if Natasha wanted to be won by him for some reason. Then she caught his eye, and Tony had his hand up before she could blink.

The paunchy man looked none too pleased that someone else was raising the price. Tony half smiled, content to spend as much money as necessary to annoy the man and to help Natasha. Finally, grumbling, the other man conceded defeat.

"Sold! for 750 euro," the auctioneer cried, and Tony grinned and winked up at his new date.

As she walked offstage, Tony pulled his phone from an inner pocket and typed a message to Pepper. She'd hear about the auction eventually; it'd go over better if she heard it from him.

_Bought a date at the charity auction. Don't worry, you love her. xx_

A discreet usher walked up to Tony and waited patiently until he put his phone away. "This way, please, Mr. Stark," he said, and led him to a small room where a sensibly-dressed woman took down some pieces of information and verified others. He signed several receipts and what appeared to be a liability release form. Only when all the paperwork was completed was Tony's bachelorette brought in.

"Miss Weiss, this is Mr. Anthony Stark. Mr. Stark, Miss Anna Weiss."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stark," she said in softly accented English. Tony took the offered hand and kissed it.

"Pleasure's all mine, Miss Weiss."

They walked together into the ballroom and circulated, making small talk. A photographer stopped them to snap a picture, Tony looking haughty and Anna ever so slightly uncomfortable but smiling. Tony instructed the photographer to send a copy to Stark Industries. "That's one for the photo album," he murmured, and she glanced at him sidelong.

"You keep pictures of all the women you buy?" _That_ was Natasha, not Anna.

"Only the really gorgeous ones. My girlfriend will be so proud."

"She won't mind?"

He spread his hands magnanimously and simpered. "It's for charity. I am innocent and blameless."

The band started a waltz, and Tony said, "I don't mean to preempt our official date, but would you care to dance, Miss Weiss?"

"All right." If she was hoping to put him off with aloofness, clearly she didn't know Tony Stark. He was apt to view feminine reticence as a challenge rather than a deterrent.

He led her out onto the floor and held her at a respectable distance. They waltzed silently for a while; Tony watched Anna's face as she looked anywhere but at him. To a stranger it probably appeared that she was shy and likely a bit embarrassed to be seen dancing with a notorious figure like him. Tony knew that as she gazed over his shoulder or past their joined hands she was looking for something or someone.

"You dance well. You're very graceful."

"Thank you."

"So you're studying art history. What's your thing? What do you like?"

"I concentrate on American painters, specifically portraitists. John Singer Sargent is a favorite of mine. Do you know his works?"

"Sure, there's some in the Metropolitan Museum back in New York. _Madame X_, right?"

"That's right."

"You look a little like her. Except for the expression." He peered at her and she met his gaze. "You're way too sweet."

She smiled. "If that was a compliment, thank you."

"You're welcome."

The song ended and they clapped politely. "I've got to go schmooze with some people; you probably don't want to hang around for that. Are you free tomorrow evening? For our official date?"

"But of course, Mr. Stark."

"Excellent. Do you have any recommendations for a good restaurant? Maybe something with a view?"

"I believe Alessandro's is Michelin rated."

"Perfect. I'll make reservations for eight."

* * *

He picked her up in the Veyron he'd rented, and while one part of Natasha decried it as an unnecessarily showy and decadent move, another part figured if you could afford it, why not? Anna was properly impressed. At the restaurant he handed the keys over to the valet and escorted her in, where the maître d' showed them to a table in the center of the dining room.

Shortly after they'd been seated, a waiter brought two crystal highball glasses to the table and set them before the pair.

"What's this?" she asked, puzzled. "We haven't ordered anything yet."

"Oh, when I made the reservation I asked them to have drinks ready. I hope you don't mind." He picked up his glass. "I do love a White Russian." His eyes danced and inwardly she sighed, but clinked glasses with him and drank nonetheless.

Natasha had never expected to go on a date with Tony Stark, but here she was. Even more unexpectedly, she found herself able to understand the appeal. In playboy mode, the man was charming, urbane, devil-may-care, and handsome in his suit with the tie artlessly loosened. He could talk at length about current events and pop culture, and when he name-dropped it sounded natural and unpretentious. Anna Weiss really would be seduced by this man—Natasha hesitated to think of him as Tony, her teammate, who had just last month bought all the carob chips in the local Whole Foods, nearly thirty pounds of them, because Bruce had mentioned he liked them. The man having dinner with Anna Weiss was definitely Mr. Stark, not Tony.

* * *

Over their dessert of pear mousse with vodka sauce he—Tony, now—leaned across the table, touched the back of her hand lightly, and whispered close to her ear. "One of the other bidders is here. Broken nose."

She nodded, head bent, eyes trained on the table. She didn't dare look behind her; she had to trust him.

"Do you know him?"

"No, but I know who he works for."

"Would now be a good time to leave?" She tapped his hand once for yes.

He pulled back, keeping their hands in contact. Just a shade too loud to be discreet he asked, "Would you like to come back to my place for a drink, Miss Weiss?"

She hesitated, biting her lip, then nodded.

Back at the hotel, he strutted through the lobby with the confidence of a man who knew exactly how good he looked and how rich he was. She walked close to him, head high but eyes lowered, a portrait of a woman at war with herself. Before the elevator doors shut, he pulled her close and kissed her; anyone in the lobby would have had a clear view of it.

Once the door was shut she leaned close, making sure his head was between hers and the security cameras, and whispered in his ear, "You're a lucky man, Stark."

"Don't I know it."

* * *

Tony kicked his shoes off and flopped onto the bed, leaning against the headboard and crossing his arms behind his head. Natasha pulled the heavy drapes closed and then, without any compunction, unzipped her dress and slipped the straps down to reveal a black bodysuit.

"Now I know why your dress was so modest. I was starting to think you didn't like me." She didn't reply, pulling off the wig and setting it carefully on the nightstand. From a pocket of her coat she produced a pair of soft-soled shoes, tugging them on.

"What do you need me to do? Besides lounge around looking devastatingly handsome and rich, that is."

"Be my alibi."

Tony considered this for a moment. "Usually I'm the one who says that. It's weird to be the alibi instead of needing one. Can I ask what it is you're about to do?"

"Of course you can."

He waited for an explanation. On realizing that he wasn't going to get one, he sighed, "The old semantic distinction. I'd rather you said 'I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.'"

"I thought that was understood," Natasha said, looking at him with eyes innocently wide. Then she snapped back into business mode. "Did you bring the briefcase?"

He rolled his eyes. "Do I ask if you brought your guns? Of course I brought the suitcase. I'm like a Boy Scout, always prepared." Tony held up his fingers in a mock salute as she thumbed a clip into her pistol and placed it into her thigh holster.

"Don't stay out too late, dear," he said. "And call me if you need me."

She crossed to the bed and surprised him by leaning down and kissing him on the cheek. Then she walked out on the balcony, swung her legs over the railing, and disappeared.

Tony changed into the under layer of his suit just in case. Then he got out his laptop; if he wasn't going to get to have any fun, he might as well get some work done.

* * *

Even though he'd been trying not to, he dozed off, lulled by Swiss TV on mute. He started awake to the balcony door softly clicking shut. "Nat?"

"Shh." She flicked the television off and padded around to the other side of the bed. "It's done," she murmured. "Go back to sleep." He closed his eyes again and let himself drift off, knowing she was safe. He barely registered the sheets moving under him as she pulled them back and slid into the bed.

* * *

In his wildest dreams Tony had never imagined waking up next to Natasha Romanoff, much less next to a Natasha who was, if the bodysuit on the floor was not a figment of his imagination, naked as the day she was born. The very worst part of him itched to hitch up the sheets just enough to check, but he didn't doubt she'd break his fingers, even in her sleep, if he tried it. To ward off temptation he checked his phone. There was a text from Steve, asking if he'd worked out the note, and one from Pepper: _Poor girl. I hope you were nice_.

Natasha uncurled herself, sheets sliding in what surely would have been fascinating ways if he'd let himself look.

"Good morning."

"_Guten Morgen, Herr Stark_."

"Want to use the shower first?"

She gave a feline little yawn that ended in a "Thank you." Through a Herculean effort he kept his eyes on the phone's screen as she slipped out of the bed and sashayed slowly into the bathroom.

"That's just mean, Romanoff," he muttered darkly, and she chuckled.

As soon as the door shut behind her, he picked up the room phone. "Hi. Breakfast brought up, please. Whatever you can do within ten minutes. And two mimosas and a couple of roses."

Fortunately for his health, she had a towel wrapped around her when she left the bathroom. Tony ducked in, wrenched the water on, and blessed Swiss efficiency when he heard a knock at the outer door. Leaning out of the shower he called, "Anna, can you get that, my little strudel puff?"

She was completely dressed and standing with hands on her hips as he walked out, arc reactor glowing. "What was that?" she demanded.

He glanced at the tray: croissants, _pains au chocolat_, a bowl of raspberries and blackberries, two champagne flutes, and a petite bouquet of pink roses. "Breakfast. Thought you might be hungry after our big night." She was not amused by either his answer or his smirk.

"I had to answer the door in only a towel!"

"You did ask for an alibi." He crossed his arms petulantly. "If you're not satisfied, be more specific next time."

"I believe the odds of there being a next time are very slim," she retorted, but smiled just enough for him to notice.

* * *

Tony insisted that she take the roses. It certainly made Anna's embarrassment more genuine as they walked through the lobby, her in last night's dress and coat, carrying roses, and him in Levi's and an Armani blazer. He also insisted on driving the Bugatti by the lake before taking her back.

"Is the speeding ticket also part of the alibi?" she asked. Tony just moaned about how annoyed Pepper was going to be.

In front of the apartment building where she was putatively staying, he let the car idle. "I think we can agree that what happens in Zurich stays in Zurich."

"No one back home would believe me if I told them about our date, Mr. Stark."

"I certainly enjoyed it. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Weiss."

"Safe travels, Mr. Stark." She started to open the door, but he stopped her with a _tsk_. He tapped a forefinger against his cheek; with a barely stifled sigh, she leaned over and kissed the spot he'd indicated.

"See you when I see you, Snow White."

* * *

But because he was Tony he couldn't ever really let something lie (even though he never did find out what she'd really done in Switzerland), so at the next movie night he said, "Drink, Nataliya," and handed her a highball.

She took it with a smirk and drawled, "I do love a White Russian."


	14. Book Club

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, especially the quoted texts. C. S. Lewis is the best, right.

You cannot convince me that _Beowulf_ is not a true story.

Since I forgot to mention it the first time I posted and don't want to have this argument several times: _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe_ was the first Narnia story published, and for many, many years it was labeled as the first of the series, although _The Magician's Nephew_ is the first in Narnian chronology and is now labeled in boxed sets as the first. I'm old school, and Pepper is older than me, so we call _LWW_ first.

* * *

**Exactly what the fairy tale does is this: it accustoms him for a series of clear pictures to ****the idea that these limitless terrors had a limit, that these shapeless enemies have enemies, that these strong enemies of man have enemies in the knights of God, that there is something in the universe more mystical than darkness, and stronger than strong fear.  
G. K. Chesterton, "The Red Angel" in **_**Tremendous Trifles**_

Thor mashed the power button and tossed the remote control aside with a sigh. Pepper saw that he seemed strangely melancholy.

"Nothing good on?"

He shook his head. "The television is not diverting today. All it shows are people shouting at each other about problems that should remain personal."

She glanced at the clock. 1:20 PM. "Now's not the best time for good programs. It's mostly reruns of 'The People's Court' or talk shows."

"There is neither honor nor entertainment in such behavior. For entertainment in Asgard we have many tales of the deeds of heroes, and the citizens hear them gladly."

"I'm sure a good percentage of them are about you." Pepper smiled and Thor ducked his head modestly.

"I always loved the stories we heard in childhood. In truth, they were not much different from those the adults heard—in Asgard and the other realms there are many creatures well known that are considered only fantasy here. My brother was a great teller of tales," he said with a rueful but still fond smile. "He is so clever and full of imagination; I often wished to be half so clever as he. In our youth we would lie awake long into the night as he spun the most wondrous tales, replete with sorcery and feats of strength. He even mimicked the voices of giants and beasts, and the sounds of battle and the birds and running water." He sat in silence for a moment, remembering happier times with his brother.

"We have lots of similar stories," she said gently. "If you'd like, I can find some for you to read."

Thor looked at her in gratitude. "Thank you, Pepper. I would be most grateful if you did."

* * *

It took her longer than she liked, since she had an actual job that she couldn't just not go to, unlike some people.

Thor may not have been as devious as Loki, but he was by no means stupid. He was the heir to the throne and had to have had some kind of education; she assumed things got written down in Asgard, and he'd never shown any difficulty with reading anything here. (She didn't wonder too much about just how Thor, for all intents and purposes an alien, came to use English fluently. That was a question she'd let Darcy tackle.) At the same time, he was a warrior, and his physical rather than mental strength was his main advantage. That, and what he'd said about enjoying stories from his childhood, gave her an idea of the best place to start.

The Harry Potter series was of course wildly popular, but also assumed a comprehensive knowledge of the modern world. In the terms of that universe, Thor was definitely a pureblood (and a Gryffindor, though with strong Hufflepuff characteristics); he needed more experience on Earth before he could truly appreciate the wizarding world.

_The Hobbit_ and the Lord of the Rings series, with their mix of races and magical objects and epic battles, would fascinate him. But Tolkien did get a bit verbose at times, and Pepper thought it better to start with something a little shorter and less intense—Thor's real life was intense enough.

Eventually she'd have to get him to read _Beowulf_, because after meeting Thor she was beginning to suspect that the story might be true. She could imagine him reading it aloud in his deep, rich voice, and knew the satisfaction he'd get from the story of the mighty hero who possessed the strength of twenty regular men. For the moment it could wait, though.

That left one clear choice. She made a quick stop at a bookstore, and delivered the purchase the next time she saw Thor.

* * *

"Steve, what is an 'air raid'?"

Steve looked up from the report he was proofreading, glad of the distraction. There was a good reason he'd left the door open. "During the war, planes would fly over cities and drop bombs on them. Why do you ask?"

"It is in this book." Thor waved it vaguely.

"Is it a history book?" He was even more interested now, and Thor, encouraged, entered the room.

"No, it is a tale of enchantment and heroism. Pepper gave it to me."

"Can I see?" Thor handed him the paperback and sat down on the edge of the bed. "_The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe_. Never heard of it. Is it any good?"

"I've just begun the reading."

Flipping through the pages, Steve smiled. "I used to read a lot when I was younger. I loved stories about adventures and brave heroes. They inspired me. I wish I had more time for reading these days."

"Perhaps," Thor suggested shyly, "we could read together."

Steve looked up. Thor had a hopeful expression; it made him look much younger, and it was a look that would be hard to say no to. He didn't especially want to say no, though, remembering staying up way too late reading dime novels and Sabatini stories because he just _had_ to know what happened. He smiled at his teammate. "Sure. That would be nice."

"Can we begin now?" Thor asked eagerly.

Deep down Steve knew he should finish the report, but the allure of a story was strong. He glanced down at the cover; he longed for the freedom of reading and the feeling of getting lost in a story. "All right. Did you want me to start?"

The other man nodded. He settled himself more comfortably on the bed, leaning back and stretching out his legs. Steve left the desk chair and dragged the armchair closer to the bed. He sat down and opened the book. Thor closed his eyes as Steve started to read. "Chapter One: Lucy Looks into a Wardrobe. Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy. This story is about something that happened to them when they were sent away from London during the war because of the air-raids…"

* * *

Pepper heard shouting from one of the rooms and went to investigate. Unsurprisingly, it was Thor's room. When she peeked around the corner she saw Steve lying on his stomach on the bed, sketchbook in front of him and pencil flying across the page. Pacing atop the desk, Thor held the book open in front of him. Evidently they were in the middle of a battle, hence the shouting. It was clear that both men were excited, electrified by the conflict, and rightfully so; it was the climax of the story, where the fate of not only the Pevensie children but the whole of Narnia would be decided. Pepper smiled and withdrew before she could distract them.

Not long afterward the two men wandered into the living room. They looked tired and slightly dazed, but content. Thor dropped full-length on the couch, while Steve sprawled in a chair. Neither said anything; Pepper imagined they were holding on to the feeling of being in another world, where their ideals of family and honor and justice reigned, and where good would always triumph over evil. After a few minutes of silence she lowered her magazine, looked at the two men, and said,

"You know that's only the first of a series, right?"

They looked at her, then each other, and grinned.


	15. Road Trip

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. But now I want a cheese steak and frozen custard.

Spoilers for the Bad Thing That Joss Did. This also assumes that you've read "Unravel Every Riddle" (and the Zurich chapter of this fic).

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed!

* * *

"You!" Darcy pointed at him dramatically. "You stole my iPod!"

Darcy had gotten a message from the user PhilInBlack, asking her to meet up, saying he had a business proposal for her. Although it was probably a bad idea, she'd agreed and arranged a meeting; she felt safe with her taser and her new self-defense skillz, and made sure they'd be in a busy public place during daylight. Even so, she told JARVIS that if he didn't hear from her every half-hour, then he was supposed to tell the gang.

On entering the smoothie place, she was surprised to see a familiar man with close-cropped brown hair. Then followed the pointing and declaiming, to which he replied,

"You've had it back for quite a while now."

"It's the principle!"

He inclined his head. "I'm sorry." With one foot he pushed out the chair opposite him, and Darcy sat down, somewhat mollified. There was already a smoothie in front of her: strawberry peach wasn't her favorite, but she wasn't about to turn it down, now that she knew he wouldn't have slipped anything in it. Theft he may not have been above, but Darcy was pretty sure Agent Coulson wouldn't drug her.

"You're PhilInBlack?"

He glanced down at the red shirt he wore. "Not literally at the moment, but online, yes."

"I thought you were dead."

"Turns out I'm not."

"I don't know why I'm surprised, given who you work for."

Coulson admitted, "They may have been a little premature in announcing my death."

"If by 'they' you mean your asshole boss, who's an asshole, then you're right." She took a sip of her smoothie. "Do the others know you're alive?"

"Some of them have their suspicions. It's not common knowledge at this time, though." He gave her a look of mild warning, which she took to add "So don't tell" to the end of the sentence. She nodded.

"Are you still working for SHIELD?"

"I'm on medical leave."

"On account of having died."

"That, and it took several surgeries and some unorthodox means to patch me up."

That caught her attention. "Ooh, are you bionic now? Do you have robot parts, like Tony?"

He didn't look thrilled at being compared to Tony Stark. "Not exactly."

"Were you born all cagey, or did they give you on-the-job training for it?"

"A little of both. How is everyone?"

"Good. Tony's happy with his new best bud, and having someone else as smart as him around is good for him. Dr. B is cool—a little shy, but funny. The Wonder Twins are always flying off somewhere or other and then when they come back they won't say what happened. Except—did you hear about the bachelorette auction?" Coulson nodded, and she held out her phone to show him the picture of Tony and "Anna." "I think Steve's adjusting pretty well—"

He quirked an eyebrow up. "I hear he's doing more than adjusting."

Darcy looked a little embarrassed; she'd heard what a big Captain America fan Coulson was, and it was sort of awkward talking to him about Steve. "You can't blame me, can you? He's…pretty unbelievable." She cleared her throat self-consciously, then concluded, "And Thor is Thor. Still big and loud and enthusiastic. So what can I do for you, Agent? 'Cause I'm pretty sure you didn't just want to catch up and drink smoothies."

"Call me Phil. As to the reason for our meeting, you may have heard that my collection was ruined as a result of a…misunderstanding."

"You mean when Fury dunked them in blood? I don't know how you can be so tactful when it comes to that jackass."

He didn't deign to explain himself. "I have a source who can replace several of the cards, but I can't drive myself, and I'm not supposed to fly yet."

"You need a ride." He nodded, and she considered it for a moment. Even if he'd stolen her iPod, the poor guy had died recently, and then come back to life to find out that his lovingly collected complete set of Captain America trading cards had been desecrated in the name of saving the world. The least she could do was give him a ride somewhere so he could get back what he'd lost. "Fine. I can do that. Where to?"

"Cleveland."

* * *

"Hey, Tony, may I please borrow a car?" Darcy asked in her sweetest voice, making sure to use proper grammar and the magic word, just in case it worked.

He didn't look up from whatever he was typing into his handheld. "Which one, when, where, what for?"

"The most normal one you have, day after tomorrow, Ohio, classified mission."

At that he looked up. "I was with you up 'til the end."

"Oh, don't get all self-righteous; you guys are always doing stuff and then not telling me about it. I have to drive a friend to pick something up. That's all I can say." She crossed her arms firmly, hoping her statements would forestall any further argument.

Of course they didn't. "We have ways of making you talk. Thor." Tony snapped his fingers at the younger man, currently sitting upside on the couch, his hair hanging down and his feet over the back. "Get her."

Thor obediently flipped off the couch and stalked toward Darcy. "You don't want to do that," she warned. He grinned and kept coming. "I'll drop you like Britney Spears did her first husband, I'm not even kidding."

Thor wouldn't have been worried, even if he'd known who Jason Alexander was. "Come, Darcy, tell us why you need go to this Ohio."

She backed towards the door. "I told you, a friend needs to pick something up."

"Pick up what? And do we know this friend?" Tony asked. It was worse than asking your parents for permission to go to a party in high school.

"I can't tell—no, put me down!" Thor had lunged forward and snatched up Darcy, throwing her over his shoulder. She pounded on his back to absolutely no effect, while he added insult to injury by laughing. And then he started spinning in a circle. Darcy clutched at the back of his shirt, her hair whirling, as Tony watched with a smirk.

"Stop it, Thor! I'm going to hurl all over your back," she threatened. He stopped and looked at Tony, who mimed vomiting, and frowned. Thor set her down with a thump onto the couch next to Tony. She sprawled ungracefully where she'd been dropped.

"Will you talk now?"

"Are we still on this? No. Why can't you just trust me?"

"Of course we trust you, dear one." Thor sat across from her and patted her knee kindly but none too gently. Tony made a skeptical face.

"Speaking as the owner of the requested vehicle, I'm not ready to blindly trust you just yet. I think we're both pretty curious about the sudden desire to take a road trip with this mysterious 'friend.'" He made air quotes to emphasize his skepticism.

Darcy sat up with a huff. "I promise you can trust him with my life. I'm pretty sure you've already trusted him with yours," she muttered. "We're not going to do anything illegal or even remotely dangerous. We're just gonna drive to Cleveland, pick up his goods, maybe do some sightseeing, and drive back. That's, like, four days."

The two men exchanged a look, clearly not convinced.

"I'll be safer with him than I would be with either of you. I'm sure all your cars have GPS trackers, so you can follow our progress. And I'll call every couple of hours to check in." Damn, Tony had a good poker face when he wanted to. She had no problem laying a guilt trip on him, or at least trying to. "If you say no, you'll be keeping me from doing a good deed, and then one day when you least expect it, at the worst possible time, that karma's going to come back and bite you in the ass."

He considered this; she knew he didn't need any more bad karma in his life, especially now that he was a superhero, kind of. "Are you sure you don't want Happy to take you?"

"I'm sure. He wouldn't let me drive at all."

Tony appeared resigned, and she wondered how much of his resistance had been just an excuse to give her a hard time. "All right. Take the Audi—I can't believe I just said that."

"Yes! Thank you, Tony." She turned to Thor. "You okay with this?"

"I would feel more at ease would you allow me to come along," he offered.

"I can't this time, big guy. I promise we'll do a road trip another time, though."

"You will call?"

"Every two hours. Scout's honor."

Darcy could tell he wasn't entirely pleased, but he nodded, at least understanding her need to complete the errand. "Very well." She hugged him and then stood up to leave.

"Just one more question," Tony asked. "What are you going to tell Steve?"

* * *

Darcy stuck her head into Steve's room. Thor'd said he was here, but there was no Steve in sight. "You in here?"

His blond head, unusually disheveled, popped up over the far side of the bed. "Darcy, hey! What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, goofball." She stepped into the doorway and leaned against the frame. "What are _you_ doing?"

"I dropped a pencil under the bed." He ran a hand through his hair, and Darcy noticed that he wasn't wearing a shirt. She raised an eyebrow.

"Are you naked? I totally don't mind if you are."

"No!" He flushed. "I have pants on. Did you want to talk about something?"

"Could you talk to me like a normal person, not hiding behind the bed?" she asked, trying (and probably failing) to sound innocent.

Steve looked down at his chest, then around the room for his shirt. Darcy found it before he did; it had slipped onto the floor on her side of the bed. With as much stealth as she could manage she moved forward and snatched the shirt off the floor. It wasn't enough stealth that he didn't notice.

"Can I have that back, please?"

She shook her head, hiding the shirt behind her back. "You'll have to come and get it."

He stood up, giving Darcy ample opportunity to appreciate his bare torso. Steve appeared to be fighting a blush and the desire to cover himself with something, but walked resolutely forward. He stopped just in front of his girlfriend and wrapped his arms around her. Darcy tipped her head up to press her lips against his. "Hello, handsome," she murmured, leaning into his warm chest. He kissed her slowly, carefully, until her knees went weak and the shirt dangled all but forgotten. He plucked it out of her unresisting hand and stepped back, pulling it over his head. She sighed.

"You make it hard to leave."

"Leave?"

"I have to go out of town for a few days. I'm leaving the day after tomorrow, should be back on Sunday night."

"Where are you going?"

"Ohio. A friend needs to go pick up some stuff and asked if I'd drive. He's had surgery recently and isn't supposed to be driving, or flying. Before you ask all the questions, yes, you know him, but no, I can't tell you who it is or what we're going to get. And I'll be totally safe with him. I can't even tell you how safe I'll be."

Steve didn't look pleased. "This sounds kind of shady, Darce."

"It's not. It's a hundred percent above-board. I understand your concerns—I just heard most of them from Thor and Tony—but I need to help this guy. He deserves something good to happen. If you knew the whole story, I guarantee you'd agree with me. If nothing else, I need you to understand that there's a good reason I can't tell you all the details, and to trust me."

He blew out a breath, ruffling his hair. "I trust you, obviously, but I don't like the idea of you going off with some strange fella."

"He's not as strange as some people I could name," she teased, and Steve made a face. "Like I said, he's been in the hospital recently, so he's not in any shape to try anything, even if he wanted to, which he doesn't. I can always talk him into submission."

"Or tase him."

"Or beat him up. My boyfriend taught me how to box, you know."

"I heard about that." He reached out and rested a hand on the curve of her hip. "Maybe your boyfriend can go with you."

Darcy smiled at him to soften the refusal. "Not this time. I'll check in to let you know how it's going."

"Okay." She felt relieved; there would have been a huge fight if she'd had to tell him that she was going no matter what he said. This way she could leave without drama.

"Come on," she said, lacing her fingers through his. "If I'm going to be gone for four days, I'm going to need to store up kisses for the road."

* * *

Bright and early, Coulson—Phil, apparently—slid into the idling car and shoved his bag into the virtually nonexistent backseat. Darcy looked at him over the top of her sunglasses.

"Do you know how annoyed Steve was that I couldn't tell him what I was doing? And how Thor tortured me and then Tony interrogated me?" she complained, exaggerating just a bit for effect.

The look he gave her spoke volumes about how much he didn't believe her. "I'm very sorry for your troubles." It did not sound at all sincere.

"Don't worry, I didn't crack under pressure and tell them I was chauffeuring Zombie Phil for the weekend. You'd tell me if there were zombies, right?"

"No."

"Jerk," she muttered. She pointed at her phone. "Your job is to call one of them every two hours. If you fail to do so, at least one flying dude will descend on us to make sure I'm still alive, and none of us wants that to happen. Think you can handle that?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Darcy checked the mirror and cautiously pulled into traffic. They continued in silence for a while; unused to driving in the city, she appreciated the quiet. When they were safely in the Lincoln Tunnel something occurred to her, and she broke the silence.

"JARVIS, are you in this car?"

"It's not KITT from 'Knight Rider,' Miss Lewis," Phil said, just shy of patronizing.

"Okay, you can_not _call me that anymore."

"What should I call you?"

"Use your imagination. I mean, Darcy will suffice, but if you can come up with something better, go for it. And to return to the point, it is not at all crazy to ask if this car has a sentient computer program in it somewhere. It is one of Tony's, after all."

* * *

Darcy hit the scan button on the radio. As it hissed through static, Phil said, "I thought you'd have a road trip playlist, perfectly timed to the length of the trip."

She shook her head. "I like to listen to the different regional radio stations. It gives you more of a feel for the area." Darcy peered over the wheel at the somewhat uninspiring landscape around them; not really a place she wanted to get much of a feel for, but whatever. "See, you can't learn everything about a person through surveillance."

* * *

"It's been two hours," he announced, picking up her phone.

"Here, take a picture of me." She braced her knees under the wheel to hold it straight, then half turned to face him and gave two thumbs up. The phone clicked. "Send that to Tony."

"I'm sure he'll appreciate the no-hands approach to his expensive sports car."

"He knew the risks when he handed over the keys."

* * *

"I wonder how fast this thing can go."

"This is I-80, not the Autobahn."

"You're just jealous because you can't drive. Chill out, I'm not going to push it. If I get a ticket, Tony'll never let me borrow a car again."

* * *

"Would you rather have to eat only pickles or drink only pickle juice?"

"Drink the juice. You?"

"Eat them. That way I'd still be able to drink alcohol. Your turn."

Phil thought for a moment, staring out the side window. "Would you rather have a tail or webbed hands and feet?"

She shot him a sidelong look. "I hope this wasn't inspired by any of your cases." He shrugged. "Is the tail prehensile?"

"Sure."

"Then tail. It'd be more useful than the webbing."

"Same."

"Aw, you'd look so cute with a little monkey tail," she cooed. His offended look was also pretty cute, and she laughed.

* * *

He'd already made a reservation at a hotel in the suburbs. Darcy let him out to check in while she parked the car. When she entered the lobby, carrying their bags, the clerk was handing over the key card.

"Here you are, Mr. Black."

Darcy shot Phil an amused look, which he ignored. The clerk told her, "I'll be with you in just a moment, miss."

"This is my niece," Phil lied smoothly. He handed her a key card. "Come on, kid." She followed him into the elevator, chuckling all the way.

They had two separate rooms with connecting doors. After dumping her bag on the bed, Darcy opened her door and knocked. Phil opened his door, looking somewhat pale and tired.

"Do you need anything before I turn in?"

"No, thank you. I'm supposed to meet with the seller at 11 tomorrow."

"Nice. We can sleep in a bit, eat a good breakfast, get all prepared for kung fu bargaining. They'll never know what hit 'em." She did some pseudo-kung fu moves with her hands. "I bet you know actual kung fu, huh."

He gave his vague, enigmatic smile. "Sleep well, Darcy."

"Good night, Uncle Phil." His smile grew into a genuine one, one that made him look years younger. When she closed the door, she left it open a crack, and he did, too.

* * *

The next morning, as she was looking for her socks, Darcy found a folded index card in her bag. Puzzled, she pulled it out and opened it. Inside Steve had written _I miss you, honey_, and drawn a picture of an adorably sad little bear.

She fell backward onto the bed. Then she grabbed a pillow, held it over her face, and squealed.

* * *

Darcy tried not to stare as Phil counted out bills. Even though she'd seen how much some of the cards went for online, it was still a little surreal to actually watch someone shell out that much physical cash. She distracted herself by studying the cards. Her favorite one showed Cap in army pants and a leather jacket, carrying his shield and striding purposefully forward. She tried not to think about how old the cards were, and how old that made him.

Phil was ready to start the return journey as soon as his business was completed. "Whoa, chief," Darcy stopped him. "I didn't drive all this way not to go to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. We can go this afternoon and then head back tomorrow."

He narrowed his eyes. She pouted, sticking her lower lip out. "Come on, Uncle Phil, I've been _so good_ this far!" she whined. Much as he wanted to, Coulson couldn't really argue with that, so he found himself following Darcy as she wandered awe-struck through the museum.

"I think I'm going to quit my job and become a groupie," she said as they walked out into the evening.

"I can't imagine Steve would appreciate that very much."

She waved the objection away flippantly. "He'll get over it when he realizes it's my true destiny."

* * *

They were just over the state line when she asked "Have you ever been to Gettysburg?" before sticking a spoonful of frozen custard into her mouth. Phil shook his head, his own mouth full.

Darcy looked over at him and grinned. He smiled back and tapped the new destination into the GPS.

* * *

After visiting the Civil War battlefield, it only made sense to detour through Philadelphia. By the time they got there all the historic sites were closed, so they ate cheese steaks and fries and spent the night in a slightly skeevy hotel. In the morning they visited the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall, where Coulson got understandably emotional (or as emotional as he ever got) about the Revolution. He pretended he didn't want his picture taken with the Benjamin Franklin reenactor, but Darcy knew better, so she pretended to have to convince him. After they'd seen all the independence-related stuff, Darcy insisted on running up the steps in front of the art museum and getting her picture taken with the Rocky statue.

* * *

"Would you rather be stuck in an elevator with Tony or the Hulk?"

"Death is not an option, is it?"

"Nope."

"I'm tempted to say the Hulk."

"Yeah, but Tony could probably find a way out."

"You'll have to forgive me if I don't share your faith in him."

"He's not as bad as you think."

"Would you rather be handcuffed to Fury or Loki?"

"Too easy; either of them would get out in like two point five seconds flat."

"Fine. Would you rather have to sleep with Fury or Loki?"

"Phil! That is totally inappropriate. I'm so proud. I'd have to say…Loki. Seems like he'd be more fun than your boss." Darcy smirked. "Now you have to answer."

He blanched, and mumbled, "I forgot about that rule."

* * *

About a month after the trip, a small package found its way into Darcy's mailbox, even without proper postage. Hardly a surprise, given the SHIELD stationery. The enclosed note read _Thanks for the road trip_. _Here's something for your own collection_. In a float frame, so both sides would be visible, was a Captain America trading card, near-mint…and signed.


	16. Run

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing named herein.

When angst attacks! I did say "slices of life"; they can't all be sweet.

Thanks to all who've reviewed.

* * *

"And I thought I'd never meet a man more afraid of commitment than Tony."

He doesn't spare a glance up from putting files in the duffel bag. It's not full yet, but he still feels like he's allowed too much to accumulate around him. It feels like he's calcifying, petrifying.

"You'll have a hard time sneaking out of a place this full of both artificial and actual intelligence, you know."

"I've already talked to JARVIS about that," he says, turning to a shelf and grabbing a few books.

"But you haven't talked to anyone else. And you don't plan to, I can tell."

"If you're planning to try to stop me, don't, please. It'll be…easier if you just let me go."

"I can't. It's my job. In more ways than one."

"Have you considered looking for a new job?" He glances up at her with an amused expression.

"You don't just quit caring about someone. No matter how far away they, or you, run." She is abandoning subtlety by this point. "And I'm not only talking about me, you know."

"I know," he murmurs, folding a shirt.

"I wish you would talk to him about this."

He shoots her a look that says that trying to talk to Tony would not be the most constructive use of their time.

"If not him, then Steve. Or me. Or somebody. Don't just go. Were you even planning to leave a note?"

He's starting to feel cowardly, and it makes him even quieter and more embarrassed than usual. "Like I said, I've already talked to JARVIS."

"How considerate," she says coolly, pulling out her phone, and he feels the prick of her disapproval. "JARVIS, let me see this note, please."

She reads it quickly—it's not long—and her disapproval grows even more obvious. "It's a masterpiece of the written word," she says drily. "I'll alert the presses."

He shrugs. There's not much else to say that wasn't in the note. Or if there is, he doesn't feel confident that he'd be able to articulate it. Words are not his thing. She has the advantage here, and she's going to use it. Oh, is she going to use it.

"If you leave now, it'll be worse than any other time, because you'll know exactly what you're leaving behind. You'll know what you're missing, and you'll know who's missing you."

He nods, at the least to show he's paying attention, but he doesn't trust himself to speak. Leaving will hurt, more than she knows, more than he can say. He's been alone before, but this time will be different. This time, when he wakes up in a twin bed in an unfamiliar room somewhere, he'll remember the sunlight pooling under the curtains in the guest room that has become _his_ room. In the streets of a new city he'll hear voices calling his name (and his many nicknames) and he'll turn to search for someone he knows in the crowd without finding them. He knows it will happen. He knows it will hurt. But he knows eventually it'll be better for everyone.

Pepper doesn't know he knows all this. She's concerned about how it'll affect Tony. "I'm saying this as a statement of fact and not an attempt to manipulate you: he will not respond well if you just disappear without saying anything."

"You may not be trying to manipulate me, but you're not here for purely altruistic reasons, either. It's in your best interests to keep him productive, and apparently I help with that."

"You're absolutely right," she says honestly, and it's a little surprising, as he's expected a denial or platitudes. "I did say it's my job to watch out for him. But I hope you haven't just been seeing false altruism when you should have been seeing admiration and respect and friendship."

He swallows thickly, but tries not to let emotional appeals change his mind. He wants to think he's made a rational, logical choice, not one that's at all affected by emotions, and especially not fear.

"What do you want me to say?" he asks heavily, patiently.

"Say, 'You're right, Pepper, I'm being absurd. I'll unpack right now and no one else will ever know.'" Her smile falters as he stares out the window. She mutters "I wish Natasha were here," more to herself than him. His head shoots up all the same.

"Why? So she could beat some sense into me?" It comes out harsher than he intends it to, and he takes a breath. An excess of _any_ emotion is dangerous.

Pepper looks sad. "No. Out of all the smart guys in the world, why do I get the dumbest ones? I wish she were here because maybe she'd be able to think of something to say to you to make you stay. And because I miss having another adult around to talk to."

At any other time he'd appreciate her gentle teasing. He's too tired now. "Pepper," he begins, "you don't understand—"

She flares up in anger. "Scientific genius I may not be, but I've had my fair share—_more_ than my fair share—of wounded, emotionally stunted men in my life. At least one has literally tried to kill me. I've dealt with dangerous people, and even if I'm not special, I'm still alive. Never tell me what I can't or don't or won't handle or understand."

"I didn't mean… I'm sorry. You don't get the credit you deserve for running the company, and everything else you do. I didn't mean to imply that you don't have the mental faculty to get what I was going to say; I know you're a smart woman. But you've only ever seen the Other Guy fighting against enemies. You haven't seen what he does against a perceived threat close to home. And anything, anyone can be perceived as a threat. I've had a lot of good days here. It's been pretty easy. I can't let myself forget that it's not always going to be like this. I'd rather go before things get messed up—before I mess them up. While I still have colleagues who'll miss me, instead of ones who'll be glad I'm gone." He smiles as best he can, knowing it's a weak and broken thing, a pitiful attempt. "Trust me. People will deal with me being gone, and it'll turn out that everyone's better off. Especially Tony, when he doesn't have to worry about the threat of the Other Guy ruining his labs, his work, and his life. And when I'm done leeching off of him." It sounds pretty pathetic to his own ears; he can't imagine how bad it sounds to her.

Pepper shakes her head. "No one here needs charity, Dr. Banner. Nobody needs handouts or pity. We're all pretty screwed up—yes, some of us have more issues than others, I'm not trying to downplay your problems. But there's nobody in the world who can understand you better than the people here. They want to help—_we_ want to help you, help each other. Sure, because it helps us, but because we care about you, and we like having you around. So go do your Doctors Without Borders thing if it makes you feel better. But don't run away just because you don't know how to deal with having stuff and people who love you. And don't you even think about going anywhere without saying goodbye to Tony." She stalks off, and the only way it could be more final and serious would be if she were wearing some of those clicky high heels.

* * *

He approaches the garage cautiously. "Tony? Got a minute?"

Tony's voice answers from under the hot rod, and Bruce approaches. "Hand me a rag, will you, Big Green?" A hand wiggles at him, and he leans down to drop a shop towel in it. Hand and towel disappear, and then Tony slides out from under the engine. "Thanks. What's going on?"

Bruce can't look him in the eye. "I need to get away for a while. I need some…space," he says lamely. He feels Tony's eyes on his face as the other man wipes his hands with almost ominous thoroughness. When Tony speaks, there's been a shift; although the words are light, careless as usual, something has shuttered inside him. Bruce feels the difference like a sudden drop in the temperature.

"Cabin in the woods? Thoreau, Walden?" Tony asks. There's a hint of sharpness as he continues, "Or were you thinking more Lhasa, sit at the feet of the master for seven years?"

"Just the weekend. New Hampshire or Vermont or something."

Tony barrels on in that way he has, as if he hasn't just heard whatever someone said. "That's the beauty of being a genius-for-hire, you get to make your own schedule. Sure you don't want a week?" Bruce knows then that Tony's hurt, that he should have talked to his friend, like Pepper said. He wonders if Tony knows that he was going to leave—run. Pepper wouldn't have told him, but there are cameras everywhere in this place. He must know. Bruce's heart sinks.

"Four days, at most."

"Well, I'll miss ya." But his demeanor as he turns and tosses the rag onto the counter belies his words.

"Tony…"

Tony glances at him and apparently there's something in his expression that makes Stark sigh. He slumps onto a stool and stares for a long moment, during which Bruce wonders what he's seeing. Then in a subdued voice he asks, "Are you okay?"

Bruce starts to nod automatically, stops himself, because he's never really okay. He can't quite trust his voice, so he shrugs, swallowing hard. "I just…don't want to ruin anything," he finally forces out. "If I stay, something will go wrong." Something has to go wrong. Isn't that the way it works?

"You won't ruin anything. Well, you might, but not any more than I would. So I couldn't blame you if that happened." Tony shrugs, eyes understanding and forgiving, and part of Bruce hates it but a bigger part feels stupidly warm inside and can't imagine abandoning anything that makes him feel like that. More briskly Tony says, "I can't tell you what to do. You're a grown man-slash-Hulk. But I can tell you what I want—I'm good at that—which is for you to come back. Whenever you're ready, wherever you decide to go, whatever happens while you're gone. Don't stay gone forever. Nobody else is as fun as you." Tony's smile is a little off, but that doesn't make his words any less sincere.

"I'll come back," Bruce promises, and as he says it he realizes that for the first time, he means it.

So he does.


	17. Nonverbal Communication

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any Marvel characters.

Thank you to all the lovely reviewers and favoriters.

* * *

"Of course I will take you to Asgard someday."

"Promise?"

Darcy stuck her fist out sideways, smallest finger pointing up. At Thor's quizzical expression she grabbed his hand, folding all fingers down but the last. She curled her pinky around his, and he did the same, joining them firmly.

"This is the most sacred, unbreakable vow," she explained solemnly. "You can only pinky promise something when you know _nothing_ will ever make you break that promise."

He drew himself up, looked into Darcy's eyes, squeezed her finger gently, and made the oath. "I swear it upon this bond of pinkies."

* * *

They stood facing each other on the mats—that is, Thor stood; Clint spun and bounced and kicked, achieving nothing, Thor noted, but tiring himself. Eventually the archer stopped, dropping into a fighting stance and giving a not-un-hawk-like screech. He extended one arm in front of him, palm up, and raised the fingers twice in rapid succession.

When he was sure Clint was done, Thor asked, "What does this gesture mean?"

"This, Mr. Odinson," Clint answered, "is the universal symbol for 'Come get some.'"

"Just as I thought," Thor said, nodding, and did as he was bid, to Clint's dismay.

* * *

Pepper looked completely disgusted with Tony; words seemed to fail her. Silently but emphatically, she stuck her middle finger up at him. Tony rolled his eyes and called her immature.

As she left Pepper noticed Thor's mild confusion. She stretched up and leaned close to whisper in his ear. His eyes widened; one of the words she used was not polite, as they'd told him, and he'd never heard her say it before, although others said it often.

"But if you are angry with him, why offer?" he asked her, and Tony laughed so hard he had to sit down.

* * *

The television showed a photo of Tony leaving a building, two fingers stuck in the air. Thor had seen this pose often, as Stark and many other people seemed to favor it, but he still hadn't any idea what it meant. Surely Stark was not indicating two of something. That would make no sense. "What do the two fingers mean?" he asked.

Tony confidently answered "Peace" at the same time Steve firmly said "V for victory." The two men slowly turned their heads to look at each other.

"That explains a lot," Bruce murmured as Steve and Tony began arguing.

* * *

Thor watched a pair of girls in fascination. One would make a complex series of gestures and the other would respond with different movements. "What is it?" he whispered to Jane.

"That's American Sign Language. If someone can't hear or speak, they can use their hands to communicate."

"It's lovely. Can you understand it?"

She shook her head, but said, "I do know one sign, though," and raised her hand, middle and ring fingers curled into her palm and the others outstretched.

It looked like a magic symbol. "What does it mean?"

She smiled; it _was_ magic: "I love you."


	18. Brighton Beach

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.

Beware of yet more loose interpretation of the Russian language.

Thank you to the kind and especially the faithful reviewers, and particularly to Mel. Random Guest who requested more Natasha: Luckily for you, this was started before your review. So here you go! I'm having a think about JARVIS, too.

* * *

Natasha was not having a good day.

In the first place, she'd sprained her wrist. Being injured was one thing, but the way it had happened was so pedestrian that it outraged her. She'd been walking into headquarters when a random stranger had slipped on a patch of ice that hadn't gotten salted. The man had wheeled his arms in the air, searching for something to stop his fall, and had caught Natasha's arm. She'd been turning to knock him on his ass when he'd lost all balance and did it himself, taking her with him. He'd apologized and tried to ask her out for coffee, as if that would make up for anything. Needless to say, she'd declined, and none too politely.

So she'd gotten a little hurt. That was nothing new. At least she hadn't actually broken the wrist; she'd known that as she stood up, rotating it gently.

But then Coulson had noticed her holding her arm to protect the injury and had insisted she get it checked out and cleared before the mission started. She was glad Coulson was alive after all, but she'd been rather annoyed at him for escorting her to the med floor. She may have called him a few unkind things in Russian. He'd just smiled fondly.

SHIELD medical staff didn't make a big fuss over minor injuries, but they also knew what disqualified an agent from active service. That included an injury to one's dominant hand. The med staff didn't back down when faced with threats, either.

On top of all that, they thought she couldn't be trusted not to exacerbate the injury, and demanded that she stay with someone who would keep her out of trouble. She was up to date with her paperwork and no one wanted her to hang around headquarters doing nothing. Clint was on his way across the Atlantic. Pepper had convinced Tony to give a TED talk. Steve was working with SHIELD historians to record his war experiences. Natasha didn't know where Thor was; it was difficult to keep up with so many teammates, especially the one who occasionally popped into another world. That meant there was only one person left to watch over her. Once again, Coulson escorted her to the tower and deposited her with the resigned Dr. Banner.

Sitting in the lab, drumming her fingers impatiently, she inventoried her list of grievances. Injury slight enough not to warrant any good pain medication but apparently serious enough to render her unfit for work; being treated like a child who needed supervision; not getting to do her job; missing out on seeing the sun in Portugal; boredom. She felt very put-upon and nearly sighed in frustration. Maybe she did: something drew Bruce's attention away from his tinkering and to her.

"You alright?"

"I'm supposed to be on my way to Lisbon right now." She knew she was frowning, and sounded petulant. It was just _so_ annoying being grounded while Barton got to work, and for something so _stupid_.

Bruce bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to smile. He couldn't completely keep the humor out of his voice, though. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No," she said, then immediately snapped, "I'm hungry. Have you had lunch yet?"

He frowned, glancing down at his watch-free wrist and then looking around the room for a clock. "It's not even eleven—"

"Are you in the middle of something that can't wait?"

He was apprehensive about what she might have in mind, but he couldn't just lie. "No," he admitted.

She rose purposefully, grabbing her jacket. "Great. Come with me," she commanded, not as an assassin, but as a queen would. She strode out of the lab, leaving Bruce to remember that he was supposed to be keeping an eye on her and scribble a note for anyone who might come looking for them before hurrying after her.

A cab stopped like it'd been waiting all morning to pick her up. She slid in with her usual grace; Bruce felt cumbersome as he climbed in. Natasha gave the driver an address in Brooklyn before adding, "Take the bridge, not the tunnel." He leaned back against the headrest, eyes closed. City traffic was kind of stressful; he preferred not to see it. Bruce wondered what they must look like to the cabbie, the two of them sitting silently in the backseat: the gorgeous woman dressed soberly but fashionably, hair like a flame in the winter gloom, and him no doubt looking old and schlubby and _tired_ next to her. They couldn't have been the oddest pair the cabbie had ever driven, but he couldn't imagine they looked as if they belonged together.

What could they be, together? Bruce did not for a moment believe that any observer could take them for lovers. Any intimacy between them was of entirely the wrong kind—an awareness of each others' bodies based on necessity, nor lust. Maybe they looked like distant relatives: cousins, perhaps, or a niece and her uncle. Even a collegial relationship would be hard to fathom. He knew he embodied a certain professorial stereotype, and Natasha, with her stylish wardrobe, quick eyes, and uncompromising expression, looked like a CFO type. What they really were seemed impossible, was certainly indescribable to outsiders. He hoped SHIELD knew this, and appreciated it.

The cab let them out several blocks from the beach. "Those places are for tourists," Natasha said dismissively, as if Bruce had any idea what she was talking about. He barely had time to register the unremarkable brick front of the building before she swept in.

The interior had the surreal quality of a movie set. It didn't appear to be a real restaurant in any way; there were five tables with an assortment of chairs around them, and a few uninspiring oil landscapes and dour black and white photographic portraits hung on the paneled walls. When they entered, an old man was sitting alone at one of the tables, a glass in a silver holder before him. He stared out the window, not even looking their way when they entered. Natasha ignored him, choosing a table in a corner and taking the seat facing the door. Bruce took the seat across from her. A well-used cloth covered the table, but there was no silverware, menus, anything else restaurant-like.

Even if there had been a menu, he wouldn't have known what to order, as he didn't really know where they were or what was going on. Bruce sat back and let Natasha do what she wanted. She must have been feeling out of sorts, to say the least; she probably felt like she'd failed by allowing herself to suffer an injury that sidelined her, and she must have been hating it. As long as she kept them out of trouble, he was content to let her be in control of the situation. It would make her feel better.

After a few moments a thin man in an apron appeared. He spoke to the old man with the tea before making his way to their table. He stared down at them with an inscrutable expression that could have been anything from disinterest to disgust. Finally he spoke. "What do you want?"

Had he been alone, Bruce would have apologized and left. Even now he was uncomfortable, and shifted in his chair. Natasha met the waiter's glare and answered in Russian, at which his demeanor changed. He smiled, highlighting the deeply-carved wrinkles in his face, and scrutinized Bruce. He asked a question; Natasha again answered. From then on he addressed all of his questions to her.

Bruce listened intently as she rattled off what he assumed was an order. The Russian was entirely impenetrable to him, but he liked the way it sounded, especially in Natasha's low, calm voice. The waiter interjected a few times, clarifying or suggesting, and all was well until she waved her hand, displaying the black brace on her wrist. He asked something with a sharp jerk of his head at Bruce. She snorted a laugh and replied, obviously in the negative. The waiter looked suspicious, but she reassured him, and he disappeared from whence he came.

"He wanted to know if you'd done this to me," she explained, indicating the brace.

He nodded gravely. "And you assured him that I am far too chivalrous and gentle to ever dream of hurting a woman."

"Something like that." It'd been more like 'Him, hurt me? Please.' She knew he'd figured that. "He didn't ask, but he was also obviously curious about us."

Bruce frowned a little. "What about us?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "How there's this native Russian speaker who found this place without him knowing her first, and who her mysterious friend is." Natasha gave him a mischievous smile. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax more.

"'Mysterious' is not usually the first word people use to describe me. I think it makes a nice change," he said. She looked pleased.

* * *

The first thing the waiter brought was two small glasses and a bottle of clear liquid. He set the glasses in front of them and poured them full of what Bruce had no doubt was vodka. When he was done, the waiter gave a little bow and pronounced a kind of blessing over them before leaving.

Natasha pulled her shot close, some pleasant emotion in her eyes. Opposite her, Bruce looked at the drink with trepidation. She pushed the glass nearer to him.

"It's not even noon yet!" he protested. He was certain not even Tony drank before noon.

"That makes a difference?" she said rhetorically. "It's cultural. Good for the digestion." He was pretty sure that wasn't true, and his expression reflected it. "Just one, okay? Otherwise you'll make me look bad."

He glanced around the restaurant. The old man was still there, still staring out the window. There wasn't anyone to look bad in front of. "What, you don't want to look like the only person who drinks before noon?"

"You're not doing yourself any favors by refusing. Drink this and then you can have all the tea or kvass you want," she cajoled. He considered the situation; one drink wouldn't hurt, even if they were having it earlier than was generally thought appropriate, and it would make Natasha happy. He picked up the drink, careful not to spill.

"_Budem zdorovy_," she said, holding up her glass and looking him in the eye. He leaned in unconsciously, drawn in by the sound of the Russian. "Let us be healthy."

He extended his own shot, touching it gently to hers. "I can drink to that."

* * *

The waiter brought out bowls of soup and a basket full of sliced bread, both coarse dark bread and fine soft white. There were pickles and salads of beets and onions and carrots, fried breaded pork cutlets and something like pierogi or ravioli. Everything tasted slightly strange to Bruce: not bad, but foreign, heavier and more vinegar and somehow darker. Natasha ate if not with relish then at least with determination, packing away quite a bit. She drank steadily as well, while Bruce sipped his tea (the waiter and Natasha had given him twin reactions of contempt when he'd asked for plain green tea); if she hadn't been eating, she would have been well on her way to drunkenness.

"Do you miss it?" he asked as the waiter cleared away the empty dishes.

"I don't _miss_ it. But I do think about it sometimes."

"It doesn't bother you to remember?"

"Some things, yes, of course." With the vodka in her, the slightest accent appeared in her English, a just-noticeable roll of the Rs.

He looked around the small room, at the bottle and glasses on the table. "Does this remind you of it?"

Like the old man at the other table, she stared out the window, eyes focused on something further away than the street. She played absently with a fork. "This place would be filled with smoke, terrible music, and the smell of unwashed alcoholics. It would be a total dive in Moscow or St. Petersburg."

"It's not so great here, either."

Natasha seemed to be on autopilot. "Russians tend toward depression. Who could blame them, with skies like this? They lose hope; the men drink themselves to death, and the women shrivel up."

"Do you still have hope?"

"I have a job," she answered unhesitatingly.

The waiter set down a plate of blini, pots of jam, cream, and chocolate sauce, and two glasses of tea, "_Real_ tea," as he said pointedly. Natasha spooned jam into hers, stirred it.

"That's not the same at all," Bruce said. She sipped her tea and regarded him over the brim of the glass.

"Don't worry," she said after a moment. "I stopped being Russian years ago." He thought he read loss and resignation in her face; he thought she was telling the truth, and he thought he should feel proud that she trusted him with something real. Instead he felt the same fond worry that he got when Tony looked dispirited. Natasha spooned a bit of jam into his glass.

"Without a nation, without roots… What are we?" he asked, the question in his head all day coming out. They were not the reassuring words he'd been looking for. He winced at the sound of them.

"Broken from the inside out. Just like everyone else we know. That's what makes us so interesting." She smiled, really smiled, as if nothing was wrong, as if they were normal people having lunch and chatting about their normal lives; and Bruce thought that maybe that was the point, that having someone who understood you made all the difference, that being broken with other people was infinitely better than being broken alone. Natasha grabbed the bottle and refilled their glasses. "Come on. _Na pososhok_—one more for the road."

* * *

The waiter looked sad when they stood to leave. He spoke effusively, hands waving; Bruce assumed he was telling Natasha to come back, to bring all her friends next time. She thanked him, and Bruce added his own thanks in English, accepting the thump on his shoulder with barely a flinch. The old man remained where he was.

Again they walked in the smell of the sea, toward the beach, where they could find a cab. It was long from the tourist season, and the streets were relatively quiet, muffled by the thick clouds overhead. The salt-and-cold air stung as he breathed. And again, a cab was more than happy to pick up Natasha.

He felt full and warm and sedate. It was probably dangerous to let himself feel so content; he probably should have been on the alert for threats. The cabbie was probably a criminal mastermind, smuggling drugs or guns or uranium beneath a false bottom in the trunk. They'd probably never make it back to Midtown.

Bruce felt a solid weight drop onto his shoulder. When he looked down, Natasha's head was resting there. It stayed there all the way home.


	19. Sleep

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the Marvel characters mentioned herein.

I make no promises about fulfilling suggestions, but in this case a Guest-person's review inspired me. Hope you like it, Guest.

And speaking of reviews, this mess now has 100. WHAT UP. Thank you guys so much! High fives all around!

* * *

As they got out of the elevator, she said, "I am never going to understand how you talked me into rock climbing, of all things."

"You gave me the idea. First date, remember?"

Darcy tapped a fingertip against her lips, thinking. "I remember milkshakes and kissing the most handsome man on the East Coast…"

Steve wasn't about to fall for such a shameless play at distraction, even if her lips did look mighty tempting. "You wanted to know what we were doing beforehand, because you supposedly wanted to know what to wear. You said you didn't want to show up in high heels and discover we were going rock climbing."

"That wasn't meant to be a suggestion."

He shrugged and leaned over to untie his sneakers. Darcy frankly stared.

"My favorite part of this date was watching you climb because hot _damn_, Steven, your ass…it defies description."

He straightened up and rolled his eyes. "You're such a charmer."

"Getting gelato probably canceled out all the calorie-burning involved in climbing, huh?" She flopped onto the couch, toeing off her own shoes. Steve picked them up and put them by the door.

"'Fraid so."

"It was worth it," she decided. "I had intense feelings for that double chocolate."

"I could tell."

Darcy looked up at him with a serious expression. "I don't know if I've ever felt about anything the way I felt about that gelato."

"Thanks a lot," he grumbled good-naturedly.

"I'd smack you, but I don't seem to be able to move my arms."

"What a shame," he said, settling heavily on the couch. He yawned, covering his mouth politely. "Where's the remote?"

Darcy pointed by wiggling her toes at it as she yawned, too. He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, stretching his legs out to prop his socked feet on the coffee table.

"Ooh, Pepper's gonna yell at you," she warned. She snuggled into Steve's side, tucking her feet up on the couch and sighing contentedly; he draped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple.

"No, she won't. She'll never find out."

* * *

JARVIS was better than any sleep timer function. The TV's volume gradually lowered and the brightness decreased incrementally until it was dark and the only sound was of quiet breathing.

* * *

Tony lumbered sleepily toward the kitchen, his thoughts focused on coffee. A soft noise caught his attention, and he squinted around the living room before noticing the figures on the couch. JARVIS would have alerted him to any intruders, so they had to be friends. He rubbed his eyes to better see which ones.

One of Steve's feet was still on the coffee table; the other was on the floor. His left arm cradled his head against the arm of the couch. Darcy's head lay on his stomach, her ponytail loose, her legs pulled up in front of her. He had to admit they looked fairly uncomfortable; Tony's back twinged just seeing Steve contorted like that. But more than that, they looked so young, all long eyelashes and cherubic pink cheeks, no worries, no tragic pasts, no uncertain futures. Just two kids who'd fallen asleep watching TV. Tony felt a rush of warmth in his chest and instinctively checked the arc reactor before realizing that he was feeling an emotion, not a malfunction. It was their hands that did him in.

Darcy's right arm was curled in front of her face, resting on Steve's torso. His right elbow was jammed into the back of the couch, his forearm almost touching her head. Their hands met on his chest and their fingers were twined together. There was no way they could've fallen asleep like that and stayed that way all night, so they must have joined hands in their sleep.

"Well, if that's not just nauseatingly cute," Tony muttered to himself. Then, because he couldn't help it and there was no one around to call him out on it, he smiled. It really_ was_ sweet. "JARVIS, blackmail material. Go." There was a muted click as JARVIS took pictures.

* * *

Bruce almost ran into a sign strung across the opening into the living room. _DO NOT ENTER_, it read, and in smaller letters, _Caffeine in the lab. TS_. Bruce mentally shrugged and shuffled back the way he came. There was really no telling in this place, he thought.

"What's with the sign?" he asked as Tony handed him a mug.

The other man waved a hand urgently, mouth full of coffee. When he'd swallowed he said, "It's just a bad scene. Trust me, I'm doing you a favor. You don't want that image stuck in your head. I'm not going to forget it anytime soon."

Bruce considered some of the things that had happened in the tower and decided to believe him, even if it did sound a little melodramatic for first thing in the morning. He took a sip of his tea and logged on to the computer system, completely missing the smile that Tony ducked his head to hide.

Downstairs, undisturbed, Steve and Darcy slept on, hands still clasped tight, peaceful for just a while longer.


	20. I Never

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of it.

My feelings on this are firmly: eh. Given the situation, it should be funnier than it is. But again, I spent a while on it, so I'm posting it anyway.

Public service announcement: All of the Avengers are legal adults. Neither they nor I condone underage drinking, nor drinking dangerously. If you're old enough, drink responsibly, and don't drink and drive!

* * *

"We could play True American," Clint suggested hopefully.

There was a bottle of bourbon in the middle of the table. And a bottle of tequila. And a miniature keg on a chair between Thor and Steve. And an iced green tea in front of Bruce.

"No one actually knows how to play that," Tony rebuffed him.

"Sure they do."

"Tell us the rules then."

"Uh…"

Stark leaned back, swirling bourbon around his glass. "Yes?"

"The floor is lava?" Clint chanced. Tony gave him an abbreviated smirk.

"Wouldn't Thor be at a disadvantage in a game called True American anyway?" Steve asked. His beer was as yet untouched.

Bruce shook his head. "Not as much as you might think. It is a drinking game, after all."

"Thor, can you even get drunk?"

"Not on Midgardian liquor, it seems," he said, looking at his enormous stein of beer. He grinned that wild, mischievous grin and added, "But of our potent Asgardian mead even the Captain would feel the effects."

Tony leaned forward. "I've been meaning to ask about that. Can you move things between realms, or just people?"

"No doing science during the game!"

"We're not even playing yet. And just because you can't keep up—"

"Gentlemen," Steve warned, "there won't be a game if you keep this up."

"JARVIS, make a note about exploring the feasibility of interdimensional transportation of objects," Tony told the system, using big words on purpose to annoy Clint.

_Ask Thor about importing alcohol from Asgard. Yes, sir._

"Why are we even playing a drinking game?" Clint asked, forgetting or ignoring the fact that it had been his idea in the first place. "Steve and Thor can't get drunk, and Bruce won't. That just leaves Stark and me in a showdown to see who can hold their alcohol better. Spoiler alert: it's me."

"Oh, really? Is that a challenge?" Tony's expression took a turn for the devilish.

Bruce jumped in before Clint could answer. "Getting drunk isn't the point. Right, Tony?" He stared levelly at Stark, who seemed to be fighting an internal battle; he wanted to prove Clint wrong, but he didn't want to deal with Bruce's disapproval, either. Finally he let his head loll back and sighed obnoxiously loudly in defeat.

"Right. The point is, we're bonding, Tweety. And we can come up with a handicap for the non-drinkers."

"Like what?" Bruce asked.

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that," Steve agreed. "I'd rather drink than do something stupid."

Tony shook his head as he stood up and backed away from the table. "I don't want you drinking all my booze to no effect. Luckily for all of us, I planned ahead." He leaned over the bar and hefted something a bank bag into view. He doled two rolls of quarters out to each man. "In whatever game we end up playing, instead of drinking, you can put a quarter in the pot."

Unwrapping a roll, Bruce said, "That would work pretty easily with I Never."

"How does one play this game?" Thor asked.

Tony got a little gleam in his eye, perhaps anticipating all the secrets he could learn. "Oh, it's easy, Fabio. All you have to do is say something that you've never done before. Then if someone else has done that thing, that person has to take a drink. So Barton could say 'I've never built a super suit that lets me fly on my own like an actual hawk instead of having to get rides from other people,' and I would have to take a drink because I have done that." Clint glowered.

"_But_ it's not fair to target a particular person," Bruce added. "No saying something that could only apply to one person, like 'I've never traveled on an Einstein-Rosen bridge to another dimension of the multiverse,' because then Thor and only Thor would have to drink." Thor himself didn't look so sure about that.

Tony gave another example, with his usual tact. "Or no saying 'I've never turned a different color,' because then Bruce would have to."

"As would I," Thor put in.

"Really?"

He shrugged and said simply, "Loki."

"That brings up a good point," Steve said. "Do we have to explain our answer?" He looked a bit concerned at the prospect, though out of all of them he probably had the least to explain.

Bruce answered "No" at the same time Clint said, "Hell yes!" They both started to state their case, with Tony butting in with his own opinion.

"Perhaps anyone who does not want to explain himself could pay a forfeit," Thor suggested, his voice easily heard over the others.

"Ooh, I like it," Tony said, snapping his fingers. "Take an additional drink or pay a dollar."

"What'll happen with all the money at the end?"

"We'll refill the liquor cabinet."

"Buy some lottery tickets."

"Purchase food."

Steve and Bruce shared a look; then the former said in his most noble, captainy voice, "We'll give it to charity."

"So is everybody in?" Tony looked around the table. Thor and Clint nodded, the latter impatiently; Bruce looked resigned, as usual.

"I guess it won't hurt to learn a little more about each other," Steve said. "We might find out something useful or important."

"Or embarrassing." Tony grinned wolfishly.

"Besides not purposefully calling someone out, are there any other rules?"

"Just the one same as always—"

"Do not anger Bruce."

* * *

"I've never been skiing," Steve said. Clint and Tony both took a drink, looking at each other as they did.

"Boring," Tony said as he set his glass down.

"It's your turn. Feel free to liven it up," Steve responded mildly.

"Famous last words, pal. Let's see. I've never…been to Disneyland."

"That's lively?" Clint asked incredulously.

"I'm just getting warmed up. So Disneyland, anybody?" Nobody drank. "Really? Well, I guess we know where we're going next vacation. Your turn, Brucie."

"I've never done karaoke." Clint took a drink as Bruce explained to Thor and Steve. Clint had a mental image of Thor, a microphone tiny in his giant hand, belting out "I Will Survive." He giggled. Tony scooched his chair a little further away from Clint, not for the first time wondering how many blows to the head he'd endured in his life.

"I've never met the President," the archer said, then clarified, "The current one, or any previous one."

No one was that surprised when Tony took a drink. Clint looked at Steve. "I thought maybe you might've."

"Nope. Met a couple of senators, but no presidents. It's your turn, Thor. Got one?"

"Yes," he said confidently. "Never have I stolen anything."

The others all lifted their glasses or quarters. "Even you?" the Asgardian asked Steve, disappointment creeping into his voice.

The other blond did look a bit ashamed, dropping his eyes to the quarter in his fingers. "We had to take some things during the war..."

"That doesn't count."

"Especially not if you stole from the enemy."

At Tony's and Clint's serious expressions, Steve relaxed. "If that's the case, then, I guess I haven't, either." He set down his quarter and Thor patted him on the shoulder. "My turn. I've never dyed my hair."

Tony and Clint drank; Bruce tossed a quarter. "What? I went to college," he offered by way of explanation.

"Are there pictures?" Tony was practically drooling in his excitement. "I'll find them. What color was it? Please say green." Bruce blushed.

"There are bound to be pictures somewhere. It was blond, and it was really bad," he admitted.

"Can we please dye your hair green for Halloween? Pretty please?"

"No, Tony. Go on, it's your turn."

Staring intently at his fellow scientist, Tony said, "I've never painted my nails. Fingers or toes." He pouted when Bruce remained motionless. Clint, on the other hand, took a drink, and Tony sneered. "Was it black? Did you go through a Goth phase?"

"Of course not. It was purple," he said, without a hint of embarrassment. "I used to be in the circus, you know."

"I've never fired a gun," Bruce said with a crooked smile.

Steve spun a quarter into the pile. "You're not missing much. I hate it."

"Same." Clint took a drink.

"Does it count if you _are_ the gun?" Tony asked. "What the hell, sure." He drank and topped up his glass.

"I've never worn women's clothes." Clint slid a glance at Bruce and added, "On purpose."

"Finally!" Thor crowed. "This I have done!" He chugged his stein.

"Uh, you only have to take a regular drink. A sip."

"But I have been waiting so long!"

"Should we even ask?" Tony wondered.

"Or should we just assume the answer involves Loki?" Bruce added.

"Indeed it does! I shall gladly tell the tale, but perhaps another time. It is fairly lengthy."

Clint leaned forward. "The important question is, did you look good?" Thor winked at him, and he guffawed.

Thor refilled his mug, and as he did, he whispered over the keg to Steve, who whispered back a reply. "Never have I driven a car," Thor said carefully. Steve smiled at him and pitched a quarter, as did Bruce, while the other two drank.

"I'll teach you if you want to learn."

"Not in one of my cars you won't," Tony said.

Clint was incensed. "Why not? You let Darcy borrow one."

"Temporary insanity brought on by puppy-dog eyes. Yours don't work on me."

Steve grinned at Tony's excuse, knowing it probably wasn't far from the truth. Darcy's puppy-dog eyes were pretty effective. He thought for a minute before saying, "I've never been to…Africa."

Bruce paid up, Clint drank up.

"What part?"

"Tanzania. I met up with some missionaries there and did some clinic work for a while. You?"

Clint smiled ruefully. "Lots of places. None of them good. Never even got to see an elephant."

"I have never," Tony said imperiously, "paid for sex."

No one moved a muscle, though Steve turned a little pink at the very idea. "Who would admit to that, even if it were true?" Clint looked around the table, then met Tony's haughty stare. "Also, I call BS."

There was a long, tense moment of silence. The two locked eyes; Tony's jaw twitched, but Clint looked utterly calm. Steve was just about to say something to try to divert the coming fight when Tony laughed.

"You're right. I may not hand over the money at the time, but I pay for it in the end. Every time." He raised his glass to Clint and took a generous swallow.

Bruce quietly let out the breath he'd been holding; Tony patted him on the leg under the table. "I've never gone streaking. That means I've never run around in public without my clothes on," Bruce clarified for Thor.

They all stared. "What?"

"Are you serious?"

"You have to admit you're at the top of the leaderboard for naked public appearances, B."

He shook his head. "Streaking implies intent, not necessity. It's supposed to be fun. When I run around naked in public, it's not fun at all." The others accepted it with shrugs.

Clint, Tony, and Thor all raised their glasses. At Steve's questioning look, Thor said, "There are rituals that demand nudity. And the physical body is not a thing of shame. Especially in such company as this, among those whose bodies are fit and beautiful, we should embrace the freedom that comes from discarding clothing." He reached for the hem of his shirt; the others started forward, hands outstretched to stop him from disrobing.

"Whoa! I'm all for being comfortable, but I don't think instituting naked time is a great idea."

"Don't even think about sitting on any of my furniture without wearing pants."

Steve asked in a strangled voice, "What if Pepper came in? Or Darcy?"

"We are all friends," Thor said. "I would not be bothered if they saw me naked, nor would I be shamed to see them so."

"I just… I don't even know what to say."

"You can work up a lecture on modesty later. Let's get move on, shall we?"

"I've never slept with anyone who could kick my ass," Clint said.

Tony downed his shot. Thor seemed to give the idea serious consideration.

"What about Natasha? Couldn't she take you? _Didn't_ she, on the helicarrier?"

"I was incapacitated," he protested. "I wasn't functioning at full strength. Besides, I never said I've slept with her."

"Oh, please."

"Anyway, Stark, who've you slept that's so dangerous?" When he didn't answer immediately, Clint made the deduction. "You've slept with Tasha?" he demanded. His nostrils flared and his eyes got almost comically wide. He seemed to tremble with rage, staring at Tony.

Tony was starting to actually fear for his safety when Clint suddenly laughed. Then he just felt confused.

"Wait, you know?"

"I got the full debrief, Mr. Stark." Clint leaned back, smugly satisfied.

"I thought our night together was special," pouted Tony. He was surprised to find he did feel disappointed, and not just because his joke had been ruined. "Do you two have any secrets from each other?"

"'Course. But don't worry—she was very complimentary about your performance." Clint smiled kindly, and Tony immediately brightened, sitting up straight and preening.

"No surprise there. I come highly recommended."

"What about Pepper?" Steve wanted to know.

"Stop worrying about Pepper's delicate sensibilities. She knows exactly what happened, and she understands."

Rogers' expression went from indignation on Pepper's behalf to disillusionment that she could condone Tony's behavior. Bruce didn't believe all of Tony's story, even if it was seemingly corroborated by Clint; there had to be something missing, or implied, that would make it all make sense. But he couldn't let Steve think less of the almost certainly blameless woman, so he told Tony, "Now you have to own up, or else Steve'll lose faith in Pepper, too."

"Ugh, okay. You're such a buzzkill." Tony steepled his fingers and looked over them at Steve. After a moment of consideration, he said, "I didn't do anything with Natasha that you haven't done with Darcy. On my couch, might I add."

Steve looked stunned, mouth hanging open. Then he shut his mouth, nodded, and said nothing else on the subject.

They waited as Thor thought. Tony quietly borrowed Bruce's tea and took a few sips; he was starting to feel the need for some liquid other than bourbon. An idea finally came to Thor and a slow smile spread over his face as he said, "Never have I had relations with a beast."

Some of the tea came out of Tony's nose. Even though it didn't work that way, Thor was declared the winner. And by unanimous, unspoken decision, they all decided never to ask for an explanation.


	21. Welcome Back

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of Marvel's characters, the song lyrics quoted, or the device that Tony mentions, which is from a Philip K. Dick story/"Blade Runner."

I feel there is evidence in the movie that suggests it is plausible for Coulson to have survived. Any further questions about my decision? Refer to Natasha's final comment.

Thank you, readers, followers, favoriters, and especially reviewers! I hope y'all like this one.

I watched "Avengers" in the cinema again last night and it reminded me of one of the big reasons why I write these: because these characters all deserve to have things that make them smile.

* * *

"Are you shitting me?" Clint said slowly, staring over her shoulder. Natasha looked back and saw a familiar figure in a black suit approaching them. "Coulson?"

The agent nodded, a rare smile on his face. "Barton. Romanoff. It's good to see you."

"I'd say it's good to see you, too, but I'm not sure you're not one of the undead right now," Clint replied. The older man laughed.

"Pretty sure I'm not. Is there any way to check?"

Clint thought about it for a moment. "I only know how to kill zombies. I always thought they were supposed to be pretty easy to recognize." Then his cool demeanor broke down and he lunged forward, embracing Coulson manfully, his words coming out choked, strangled, muffled against the other's shoulder. "Coulson, I'm so sorry. If I hadn't—"

Coulson eased out of the hug to look Clint in the eye, grasping his biceps firmly. "No. It was _not_ your fault. No one blames you, especially not me. Understood?"

He shook his head, eyes closed, clinging to Coulson's arms as if he needed proof that the man was really there. "But—"

Forced to interrupt again, he took on the clipped tone of a superior officer. "Did I not make myself clear, Agent Barton?"

"Clear, sir," he answered automatically, opening his eyes. He saw Coulson let himself smile; if Coulson could smile, maybe Clint could forgive himself. The senior agent squeezed his arms once more before releasing Clint.

Natasha's hug was much briefer but no less warm, and she kissed him three times, alternating cheeks. Neither her expression nor tone betrayed any surprise as she said, "No one stays dead for long around here."

"That's very metaphysical of you."

She smiled back, easy and open. "Not really. Superheroes are notoriously hard to kill."

* * *

Steve walked into the conference room engrossed in the file he'd just received. He didn't know if it had anything to do with the meeting he was about to have, but it never hurt to be prepared. He nearly walked into the besuited man within. As his attention was torn from his reading he found himself speechless. Without thinking, Steve dropped the file and pulled Coulson into a tight hug.

"Hello, Captain."

Coulson noted that Steve was the only person who didn't ask questions. He accepted the evidence of his senses and his own experience. Of all the things Coulson might have wanted to have in common with Captain America, surviving in the unlikeliest circumstances had never been at the top of the list, but here they were.

They sat at the conference table, just talking; Steve didn't ask many questions, but let Coulson direct the conversation. It soon turned to how Steve was continuing to adapt to his new time, and his relationships with the other Avengers and their friends. He wouldn't have brought up his girlfriend, but apparently she and Coulson had met in New Mexico.

"I'm not sure how you keep up with Darcy."

"She can be a real handful sometimes." Then he blushed, realizing that that might sound inappropriate. "I mean, she's feisty."

"She's a good girl. And she thinks highly of you. Though who doesn't?"

Steve smiled modestly, but then something occurred to him. "Wait. We hadn't met when you were in New Mexico. How do you know what she thinks of me?"

Coulson looked a little uneasy. Darcy obviously hadn't told Steve about their road trip; he hoped Steve wouldn't be angry that she'd known he was alive, but hadn't shared that knowledge. "We had time to talk about it on the way to Ohio," he admitted, steeling himself to defend Darcy.

"_You're_ the friend she had to drive?" Steve laughed, and relief flooded Coulson. "She did say she'd be very safe with whoever was taking her. I'm glad it was you." A thought occurred to Steve and he said, "Your cards, the collection. I'm sorry you lost them."

Coulson waved it off. "That's why we went to Cleveland. I was able to buy some replacements. I have to admit they're not as top-quality as my old ones, and I don't quite have a complete set yet, but I can live with that." He flashed Steve a half-smile.

In reply, Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen. "I'm ready when you are."

* * *

_I'm a survivor, I'm not gon' give up, I'm not gon' stop, I'm gon' work harder  
I'm a survivor, I'm gonna make it, I will survive, and keep on surviving_

Darcy pushed Accept and answered with a smile. "Hey, Uncle Phil. What's up?"

* * *

He stepped into the lab and called over the music, "Mr. Stark." Tony's head popped up like a wild-haired prairie dog.

"Agent! Wait—Agent? Is that really you? Are you a hologram? 'Help me, Iron Man, you're my only hope'?"

Coulson stood with his hands folded in front of him. He hadn't particularly been looking forward to this revelation; Stark had a tendency to overreact unpredictably.

"Come on, you know you missed me. Don't even think about denying it. I know you can't lie." Tony approached, tossing a wrench with affected nonchalance. "Speaking of, how can I be sure you're not an evil android sent to kill me? If you give me a minute, I'm sure I could rig up a Voight-Kampff machne."

"Or you could ask JARVIS," Coulson suggested.

"That'd be too easy." Tony looked him over carefully. "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you."

"Y'know, I suspected—no." He shook his head. "I didn't suspect Fury was lying when he said you were dead. But I damn well _hoped_ he was." He got very quiet, in the way that Coulson knew boded ill.

"He did what was necessary."

"What was _necessary_? I can't believe you're defending him! Pepper was devastated. He can't just play with people's emotions, with their _lives_ like that." Coulson wasn't used to seeing Tony so focused, so serious, so purely angry. It was disconcerting, but also gratifying—as long as that anger was directed at someone else. Tony wouldn't say that he'd missed Coulson or mourned for him, but his anger said it.

"I'm sorry for upsetting Pepper. I'll make it up to her."

He shook his head with great economy of motion. "You don't have to make it up to her. You're alive; that'll pretty much cover it. Fury, on the other hand, has a lot of making up to do. That bastard told us you were dead."

"I was. For a little while, at least."

Stark blinked quickly, eyes darting away, and swallowed. His jaw twitched; he clutched the wrench in his hand tighter. Coulson hoped he wouldn't come up with some creative misuse for the tool.

"Tony." At the use of his first name, Stark's head snapped up. "If the options were me being dead and the world being saved, or me being alive and the world falling to Loki, which one would you choose?"

He looked raw. "One good man, one man I know and actually like, against all the assholes in the world? I don't want to have to make choices like that."

"And that's why Fury is the director. It's his job to make those choices. It frees you up for all the flying and witty repartee."

Although he didn't want to, Tony cracked a smile. "I sure can't leave it up to you." He stuck his hand out, and Coulson shook it gladly.

* * *

"Phil? They told me you were dead."

"I'm sorry."

"For what? Dying, or letting us think you were dead?"

He shrugged. "Little of both."

Her hug was painful. After a moment he had to squirm away. "I'm not completely recovered yet," he explained. Pepper's hands flew up to her mouth.

"Here, sit down! Do you need anything?" She became a flurry of movement, gently guiding him to the couch, plumping pillows. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"I'm fine, really." Her antics were fond and familiar and he really did feel fine, just being in the same world with Pepper Potts.

"Well, I'm getting myself some lemonade," she declared, backing toward the kitchen, "so it won't be any trouble to get you some."

"All right."

"Excellent!"

Instead of a simple glass, she brought back a tray laden with a full pitcher, two glasses and long-handled spoons, a sugar bowl, and napkins. She sat down next to him and filled the glasses.

"It's unsweetened—there are so many different palates around here these days that it's just easier to let everyone season to taste. If we catered to Thor's sweet tooth, the rest of us would all develop diabetes." She handed him a glass and spoon, and he added a spoonful of sugar. "I don't know when I became the den mother to all of these waifs and strays. I thought it was hard keeping track of Tony and his gallivanting, but that was nothing compared with trying to know where he's supposed to be when Bruce is here to distract him. And then there are those moments when you try to have a conversation with Steve and take for granted that he knows something and at the end you realize he's missed the linchpin of the whole thing." She tried to smile, but it was wobbly, and her eyes shone too brightly.

Very carefully Coulson set down his spoon and glass. "Pepper," he said quietly, "it's okay." She sniffed and blinked, trying to avoid the inevitable, but the tears slipped out anyway. He saw her face crumple as she gave in, and she leaned into him. Coulson wrapped an arm around her shoulders and let her cry.

When she raised her head, it was with a much more tranquil air about her. He handed her a napkin and she wiped the tears from her face. "This is all backwards," she said. "I should be comforting you, not the other way around. I'm sorry you have to see me like this."

"I'm not," he replied. "I kind of like the raccoon look." He was rewarded with a laugh.

* * *

Thor's reaction was by far the most puzzling. He seemed almost sad to see the agent again, and there was pity in his voice when he spoke.

"My friend, you were most grievously missed here. We mourned as if our hearts had broken. But it is a shame you have returned to this realm."

Coulson couldn't help feeling a little slighted. "Why's that, Thor?"

He looked at Coulson like the agent was missing something obvious. "Because you have had to leave the feasting at Valhalla. Surely such a valiant man as the son of Coul was escorted to that great hall of heroes, where you dined at table with the most honorable of warriors, fought with them and were healed, ate and drank and heard their tales of awe and gained great and secret knowledge. It is a fitting reward for the most glorious dead. Though it makes my heart glad to have you among us once more, leaving that place must be a great loss to you, and for this loss of yours I mourn with you."

Coulson should have realized that Thor would never insult him on purpose. He tempered his grin in deference to Thor's solemnity and said, "You may find this hard to believe, but I'd rather be here than in Valhalla."

"I am sorry. For this, and for my family's part in the events that led to your demise."

He shook his head firmly. "You don't have anything to apologize for. You're not responsible for your brother's actions. I was doing my job when it happened; I knew the risks."

Thor's big hand covered Coulson's shoulder. "With the All-father's blessing, I hope that one day I may be as true a man as you."


	22. Shopping

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything named, implied, or quoted.

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed! And thanks to Ellie for reminding me that I meant to write this.

This chapter contains a subtle homage to Melibells' story "Figure Drawing," whose next chapter I am impatiently awaiting. If you're not reading it, you should be.

This was also a good excuse to peruse the GQ Tumblr. Seriously, I spent hours reading it; they even have a tag that's "handsome pictures of sharply dressed men." GQ Tumblr, I think I love you. Because in the immortal words of ZZ Top, "Every girl crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man." Yes please, thank you.

* * *

"Yo." Steve looked up to see Clint standing in his doorway, having appeared silently. "You busy? I'm supposed to take you shopping."

"Time for me to learn how to dress myself?" Steve asked self-deprecatingly. "This ought to be fun."

Growing up, Steve had never done much shopping. He'd never been that concerned about what he wore; it just didn't strike him as important, particularly because back then, there hadn't been an outfit in the world that would make him look good. Then during the war everything had been provided for him. Steve still wasn't that bothered about how he dressed, but he couldn't keep asking other people what he should wear—even if Clint did take a kind of twisted joy in dressing him.

He hadn't ever been in the big department store in the old days, but the building's exterior felt familiar. It was still fairly early; the store was open, but only just. Steve hoped this was to avoid lots of other shoppers and not an indication of how long they might be there.

"Just out of curiosity, who's paying for all this?" he asked.

"You and Uncle Sam," Clint answered. "The bean counters finally got your Army pay straightened out." Since he'd been declared MIA, presumed killed, and had no next of kin, SSR had assumed control of his bank account. Since he'd been thawed out, lawyers and accountants had been trying to figure out how much money Steve had had when he went down, and then adjusting it for inflation to match the current value of the dollar. He'd told them what little he knew and then let them do the work, trusting that he wouldn't go hungry or homeless, no matter the outcome.

"Oh, yeah? So I can finally afford some new clothes?"

Clint gave him a look that said he needed a better excuse for dressing the way he did. "You're no Stark, but you're not hurting for it, either. Especially since you're living rent-free."

They headed to the men's section, Steve trying to take in everything around him. Clint started talking—it was more like narrating than anything else, Steve thought, following him to the undergarments.

"We'll start from the inside and work out from there. Far be it from me to dictate what underwear another man chooses, but let me just say this: if you're not already wearing them, boxer briefs. They'll change your life." He tossed some packages of the underwear and plain white undershirts to Steve with his usual unerring accuracy.

"Now for some dress shirts." Clint steered them there. Steve immediately went to the plain white, reasoning that even if he knew nothing about fashion, he did know that you couldn't go wrong with a white dress shirt. When he noticed that Clint was not nearby, he looked up; the archer was standing in front of a rack of patterned shirts. It was, Steve thought, indicative of the difference in their styles. Undaunted, he chose a white shirt before joining Clint.

He was a bit surprised that Clint didn't protest. All the archer said was, "Color is your friend. You can't go wrong with anything that brings out your eyes. So blue's always good for you, especially light blue. That said, you've got the fair skin, blond hair, blue eyes; most things will look pretty good on you. Oh, yeah, and don't be afraid of pink, no matter what anyone tells you. How do you feel about stripes?"

Was he supposed to have an opinion about stripes? "Good?" Steve hazarded. Clint nodded.

"Good." Instead of picking shirts, he stepped away and gestured for Steve to look. At Steve's hesitation he said, "You'll never learn if I do it for you. Just get some you like and we'll try them on."

He crossed his arms over his chest and watched as Steve flicked through shirts. Every once in a while Steve glanced at Clint to see what he thought, but his expression was blank, almost unnervingly so. Steve chose a few, striped and checked and solid colored alike, to try on.

After dress shirts, they moved on to casual tops, including the fanciest t-shirts Steve had ever seen. When the pile in his arms was beginning to betray the extent of Steve's strength, Clint directed him to the fitting rooms.

* * *

"Why is everything so tight?" Steve wanted to know from inside the cubicle. He sounded frustrated.

"Your, uh, work clothes are tight," Clint pointed out.

"But that's so they won't snag on anything. It's practical. This is just..." He tried to pluck fabric away from his midsection. "...unseemly."

"It's the times, man. Nowadays people think if you worked hard for a good body—or spent a lot of money to get it—you should show it off, you know? And showing off tends to help with the opposite sex. Like with peacocks."

Bruce was carrying out an experiment to determine if Clint talked about birds more than the average person. Steve would have to remember to tell him about the mention. "I don't want to show off. And I already have a girlfriend."

"No offense, but I'm not really sure how you swung that."

"Me either. It certainly wasn't because of my fashion sense." Steve pulled the shirt off and tugged on another. He met his own eyes in the mirror and wondered how he was supposed to judge how the shirt looked on him. It fit; it looked fine. Was that good enough?

"What does Darcy like?" Clint asked.

"Uh, anything, I guess. Like you said that time, it doesn't matter."

He rolled his eyes. "Did she like what I picked out?" Clint checked his own reflection in the mirror, making minute adjustments to his hair.

"Yeah, I think so. She didn't say she _dis_liked it."

"That's a good start," Clint answered, trying to sound encouraging. Honestly, did Steve not pay attention at all? If he wanted information, he would have to go to the source. He slid his cell out of his pocket and typed a message quickly. _Shopping w your boy. Requests?_

The reply came predictably quickly, given that it was from Darcy. _Classic but modern. Nothing too crazy._

_No leather pants?_

_Get those for yourself. ;)_

He chuckled and put the phone away. Steve came out, holding a few shirts in one hand and the rest in the other. "Tell me you found something you like," Clint said. Steve dumped the keepers in his arms.

* * *

Steve paused at a table full of soft waffle-knit henleys in chocolate, navy, cream, rust, olive drab. He picked up one of the last color, rubbing his thumb over the buttons. It reminded him of his dress uniform, and of Bucky. "Can I get this?" he asked in a subdued tone.

Clint glanced over at him where he stood staring down at the shirt in his hands. "Sure. Get more than one. Winter is coming, after all."

Steve smiled distantly. "And I hate the cold."

He was talking about more than the weather, but Clint couldn't do anything about that now. "Then we better get you some sweaters, too."

* * *

Once they were done with tops, they moved on to pants. This should be easier, Steve thought; how many different styles of pants could there be?

"How many pairs of khakis do you own?"

Steve shrugged. "A couple, I guess."

"You don't need any more of them now—that's basically all I ever see you wearing—but when you buy some in the future, remember, flat front. The pleats actually look fine on you, but they're pretty dated these days, so stick to no pleats. Got it?" He watched Steve nod, then went on. "For chinos, navy, olive, gray, any neutral is good to start with. Straight leg is standard, always flat front." He grabbed a few pairs and handed them to Steve, who groaned.

"Do I have to try these on, too?"

Clint stared sternly up at him. "You can't just buy clothes without trying them on. I know you haven't done this a lot, but you are a grown-ass man, and grown-ass men try on clothes in the store to make sure they're worth buying. Got that?"

"All right," he muttered.

"These chinos are good for when you've got to go into headquarters, stuff like that, but you need some jeans, too. They aren't just for cowboys and rebels anymore. Everybody wears them, all the time. You must've noticed that."

"I have, yeah."

"Therefore there's lots of different styles. How 'bout these?" Clint held up a pair of slim-fit jeans.

Steve took them hesitantly. "Are you sure these aren't ladies' jeans?"

"Yes, I am. Just try them. You won't know if you like them until you try them and see how they look and feel."

Steve grumbled, "I've already got a pretty good idea," but threw the jeans over his shoulder just the same.

* * *

"Come out and let me see," Clint called.

"No."

"Come on, dude. I feel like your mother here. Just let me see them."

"_No_, Clint," came the stubborn answer.

He banged his head against the wall. "Why not?"

"Because they're too tight! You can practically see my…"

"Your junk?" Clint smirked; he could just imagine Steve cringing. "Do you want the next size up?"

"Aren't there any normal jeans? Ones that aren't so fitted?"

"Yeah, fine," he sighed. "No skinny jeans. Got it."

* * *

Clint had been doing his best to hide the price tags from Steve. He'd grown up during the Great Depression; he wouldn't react well to 2012 prices. But there was no way Clint was able to conceal all of them. It was just not possible, even for a stealth master of his caliber.

Steve's eyes got very wide—excessively so, Clint thought, it wasn't like the jeans were bespoke or anything _really _expensive like that—as he read the dollar amount. "That can't be right."

Glancing around his arm, Clint confirmed, "It is. That's what good jeans cost."

"It's too much. Epsecially for only one pair." He looked around the store, as if searching for some heretofore hidden cache of discount denim. "Aren't there any cheaper ones?"

"Not here. Pretty much not in New York at all, really." Clint shrugged in a 'What can you do, man? That's life' gesture, hoping Steve would just deal with it.

He didn't. He put the jeans down, shaking his head. "We can't buy these," he said firmly.

"Don't embarrass me, Rogers," Clint hissed, snatching up the jeans. "They fit, they look good on, and they'll last you a while. It's not really that much when you think about how much wear you'll get out of them." Steve didn't look entirely convinced; Clint added, "Look, if it's freaking you out this much, we'll go to a thrift store later, okay? Then you can buy a t-shirt for a couple bucks if that'll make you feel better."

* * *

Underwear, shirts, sweaters, pants, jeans…Barton suddenly snapped his fingers. "I knew I was forgetting something. You need a suit! A dress-up one, not a fighting one," he clarified, as if Steve didn't get it.

"I have a suit. A dress-up one," Steve mocked.

Clint narrowed his eyes. "How old is it?"

"A couple months."

"Did you pick it out?" he demanded.

"No, Tony did," Steve sighed. That seemed to satisfy Clint.

"Is it black?"

"Yes."

"We should look for another for you. You can't go through life as an adult male with just one suit. Especially not you; you're probably going to have to meet the President at some point. I'm thinking maybe three-piece, maybe gray." He looked sidelong at Steve. "Maybe navy, for the whole America thing. Simple, classic… You could get away with double-breasted…" Clint kept talking.

Steve stopped paying attention.

* * *

The cashier smiled politely and asked, "Did you find everything you were looking for?"

"Yes, thank you, miss." Her smile got a lot more genuine at that. Clint gave her a smile, too, dropping the things he'd been carrying on the counter. The cashier started scanning barcodes, and as prices appeared on the small screen, Steve had to look away. He still wasn't used to how much things cost, and seeing the sum climb ever higher made him uneasy.

Clint clapped him on the back and suggested, "Just close your eyes and recite the Preamble to the Constitution. It'll be over before you know it."

* * *

"Took you long enough," Natasha remarked as they set the bags down on the floor.

"We've been waiting for you to get home. We want to see what you bought!" Pepper added with quite a bit more enthusiasm.

"All right. Let me hit the john first," Clint said, strolling past them. Steve turned to the ladies and put his hands on his hips.

"Did you know about this?" he demanded.

Natasha's expression was innocently confused and not to be trusted. "About the shopping trip? Of course. That's why we're here. Like Pepper said, we want to see your new things." She gestured at the bags by his feet. The other woman nodded earnestly; he noticed a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table in front of the two.

"I meant, did you know what he's like? Have you ever been shopping with Clint?"

The two heads shook in unison. Smirking, Natasha added, "Unlike some people, we know how to dress ourselves."

"Was it bad?" Pepper asked sympathetically.

Steve sighed and said, "He knows a lot about style. A lot. And he wanted to tell me all about it."

"It could've been worse," Pepper pointed out. "You could've been with Tony, who would have mocked you all day." Natasha nodded her agreement. Steve had to admit that it was true; he was glad to have avoided that. Clint returned before he could say anything else.

"Casual looks first, I think, right, ladies?" Clint said, dropping onto the couch between Natasha and Pepper. They nodded and Steve rummaged through the bags and pulled out a pair of bootcut jeans, holding them up to his waist. When he looked up, his audience was giving him expressions varying from exasperated to amused to tipsily affectionate.

"Go try them on! I know you had a sheltered upbringing or whatever, but get serious," Clint said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Pepper giggled as Steve blushed a little. He swept the bags up into his arms and carried them into the first room with a door he found. "I had to put up with this all day," Clint complained to the ladies. Tasha patted his leg.

Steve shuffled out wearing the jeans and a striped t-shirt. The trio turned around to appraise him, and he stuck his hands in his pockets sheepishly. "I feel stupid," he admitted.

"But you look cute!" Pepper said, smiling brightly.

Natasha nodded in agreement. "You look like Joe College." It wasn't high praise by any means, but it meant he looked normal and like he fit in, and that was good enough. Even though their comments were terribly biased and probably made even more benevolent by the wine they'd drunk, Steve's confidence was bolstered. He relaxed, tension draining from his shoulders.

"Show us something else!" Pepper chirped. If they commented about how his rear end looked in the jeans as he left, he chose not to hear it.

Steve came back in a darker pair of jeans and one of the henleys. Again, he stood in front of them, shoving the sleeves up, awaiting their verdict.

"No, no, no," Natasha said, shaking her head. "You can't just stand there like a mannequin. You've gotta show it off." She stood up and demonstrated, hips swaying as she walked. At the end of her imagined catwalk she paused, one hip and then the other jutted out, before turning and stalking back to the couch. Clint and Pepper applauded enthusiastically, and Steve joined them.

"I'm not sure I can do that," he said.

"Sure you can!"

"But less with the hips. Only women should do the hips," Clint clarified, stealing a swig of wine from Natasha's glass.

"And you have to do the face." Natasha demonstrated again, sucking in her cheeks and looking fierce. Next to her Clint and Pepper did the same thing, with mixed results. The three of them looked so ridiculous that Steve had to laugh. If they could abandon their dignity, he could, too; so he threw his shoulders back, remembered he was with his friends, and strutted forward. They laughed and clapped, and even though his face was bright red, Steve smiled.

They calmed down again as he changed, and managed to contain themselves as he came out in a cardigan over a checked button-down and navy trousers. Then there were whoops and cheers of "Classy" and "Work it!" and he flushed again, but looked pleased.

"Okay, show us the suit," Clint directed, and Steve nodded. When he'd left, Clint said quietly, "JARVIS, give us a little fashion show music when he comes out, would ya?" Pepper tittered, bumping her shoulder against Natasha's.

_I believe I have just the thing, Mr. Barton_.

A song started when Steve stepped into the room, as usual one he didn't recognize; the others howled with laughter as the singer declared that he was too sexy for a number of things, including but not limited to his shirt, car, and hat. Without even meaning to, he walked in time with the music. When he paused and turned back to face them, Clint mimed unbuttoning the jacket and taking it off, so Steve did that; he hooked a finger in the collar and flipped the jacket over his shoulder, then started to walk back. He hadn't thought they could laugh any harder than they'd been before, but somehow the three managed it, Clint falling into Pepper's lap and Natasha covering her mouth with both hands.

Between the music and the laughter, Steve hadn't heard the elevator slide open behind him. It wasn't until he heard the voice behind him that he knew anyone else was there. "So this is what they get up to when we're not here."

He spun around to see an extremely smug Tony with Bruce, who was valiantly fighting his own laughter. "Nice suit," Tony said, smirking at the mortified expression on Steve's face. Then he decided not to torment the poor guy; he and Bruce would watch the recording of the beginning of the fashion show later, so they'd get to have a good laugh then. Tony threw his arm around Steve's shoulders and said, "Come on, Blue Steel, let's go watch 'Zoolander' and see if there's more to life than being really, really ridiculously good-looking."


	23. Thrymskvitha

I used three sources for this: _d'Aulaires' Norse Gods and Giants_, _Bulfinch's Mythology_, and "Thrymskvitha" from the Poetic Edda as translated by Henry Adams Bellows on sacred-texts dot com. The three don't agree about all the details, so this one doesn't, either.

If Thor sounds a little over the top, it's because he's emulating the style of storytelling he heard in Asgard, alliteration and all.

* * *

_Okay, Thor, you have to spill. Tell us about wearing women's clothes._

Ah. You wish to hear the Thrymskvitha.

_The what now?_

The lay of Thrym. Thrymskvitha.

_Of course. How silly of us, not knowing that_.

Very well. But a caution before I begin. My brother is an important part of this tale. Were it not for Loki's cunning, the plan would have failed at several points. I would not have regained Mjolnir the mighty, Asgard would have languished without its greatest defense, and a blameless goddess would have been consigned to a terrible fate. If I am to tell this, you must all promise that you will not to belittle my brother for his part in it.

_Promise._

Clint?

_Yeah, fine._

Good. Now, I am no skald; my skill at storytelling is but slight. But I shall try my best to entertain you with the tale.

Since I was given Mjolnir, it is and was and always shall be my wont to sleep with my hammer close at hand. Only one morning I woke to find it missing.

_I thought only the worthy could move it_.

My father spoke that prohibition only when he sent the hammer to Midgard. Before that, few dared to touch the weapon that I was master of. When I could not find Mjolnir, no matter where I looked, I asked assistance from my brother, for I was at a loss.

_I bet he had it._

_Shh._

Loki had an idea where Mjolnir might be. He offered his help, knowing that the hammer was Asgard's strongest protection. If any of our enemies learned that Mjolnir was absent, they would have descended as a plague upon us, a tide we could not turn back. Together Loki and I sought Freya, fairest of goddesses, lover of all beauty and grace. She possesses a feathered cloak that turns its wearer into a falcon, and this Loki asked of her.

_Hear that, Barton? A magic flying cape_. _That's what you need._

"Were my wings made of silver, were they made even of gold, I would give them for this," Freya said.

Fastening the cloak about him, Loki flew with all haste to Jotunheim. There he found the giants' king, Thrym, all at ease; he braided his mares' manes with ribbons, and made golden leads for his hounds. Thrym greeted Loki full fairly, saying "How are the gods? How are the elves?"

_Oh, no, there are _elves _too?_

"What errand brings you to the giants' home?" It was strange for a jotun, even their king, to be so cordial, and Loki knew his suspicions had been correct.

"Gods and elves alike fare ill," Loki answered. "Have you hidden Thor's hammer?"

Thrym laughed in glee. "Hidden it I have! The hammer is buried eight fathoms below the earth, and none shall have it again until I have Freya as my wife."

_How much is a fathom?_

_Six feet.  
_

_If it was buried 48 feet, couldn't you have just dug it out?  
_

_It's a metaphor. The actual depth doesn't matter.  
_

Loki returned to Asgard with feathered wings flapping. Even before he landed I would have an answer, so he would have time neither to forget nor to lie. He wheeled in midair and spoke with sadness.

"Thrym, the jotun-king, indeed has your hammer. He will only return it if Freya consents to be his bride."

Struck though we were by sorrow, we hurried to collect her. In my haste I said, "Put on your bridal veil, Freya, and come with me; we must hurry to Jotunheim."

_Bad idea, bud_.

Freya loves music and flowers and elves; she was not well pleased by the idea of marrying in the giants' kingdom. She screamed so that the All-father's hall shook, and the dwarf-made necklace she wore burst apart.

_Whoa_.

_I take back anything I've ever said about you ladies and your moods_.

Then Loki spoke: "Perhaps we ought to gather the gods and find another way." So together we met, the gods and goddesses all, in the hopes of creating a plan to ransom Mjolnir.

It was Heimdall, the gatekeeper and watcher of worlds, who offered hope. "Let Thor don the bridal veil and Freya's dwarf-made necklace; adorn him with keys and jewels and a flowing gown and broidered cap."

My friends, you can well imagine my reply. I refused, saying it would mark me as unmanly to dress in women's clothes. In truth I railed and swore, my fury most futile—I suffered greatly without the might of Mjolnir to comfort me.

It was Loki who convinced me of the plan. "If you do not, then the hammer will stay in Jotunheim, and giants will rule Asgard." With that, I agreed, though with a troubled mind. The goddesses helped dress me in robe and bridal veil, giving me gems and ornaments befitting a beauty. Although I doubted any would take me for lovely Freya, they praised me with laughter and flattering words.

Heimdall's plan would gain me entrance to Thrym's hall, but after that I knew not what I should do. My brother pledged to join me, traveling in the guise of a maidservant. I was most glad of his help. He is much cleverer than I, and his wits had often saved me in the past.

We mounted in my chariot, drawn by the goats Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr.

_I'm sorry, did you say goats?_

Yes.

_Your father has an eight-legged horse, and you have goats._

They are wonderful beasts. If their flesh is consumed, Mjolnir's power can return them to life.

_That's just…terrifying._

_Goats have rectangular pupils._

_What?_

_In their eyes. Their pupils are rectangular._

_With that image in my head, I may never sleep again._

Drawn by the goats, we flew to Jotunheim, Loki and I, and at our approach Thrym began preparing the wedding feast. We could hear his triumphant commands to his retainers. "Prepare the hall! Spread new straw and flowers for the future queen. I have golden-horned cattle and giantish oxen; I have riches and treasure. All my wealth lacked was Freya as my bride."

The jotuns led us in to the feast, and Loki and I took our places at the bridal bench. In my unease I forgot the part I played, and ate as a warrior, rather than a maiden.

_Except Darcy. Ow._

_Nah, Darcy's not a maiden—OW._

The giants watched in amazement as I ate oxen and sweets and eight salmon entire, and finished three tuns of mead in my thirst. "How can this be?" asked Thrym. "Never have I seen a bride with such an appetite!"

Swift-witted Loki, my lady-in-waiting, had an answer. "O king, she has fasted these eight days, wasting away with love for you. No morsel has passed her lips, so consumed with you were her thoughts."

At that the giants' king was inflamed with lust, and desired a kiss from his comely bride. He lifted the veil from my brow, but at the sight of my eyes, flashing as fire, he drew back in fear. "Her eyes burn like embers, like coals they smolder!"

Again Loki spoke, and his words sounded sweet in Thrym's hearing. "Eight nights she lay awake, Lord Thrym, thinking of you." The king's passion piqued, he called for the ceremony to begin with greatest haste.

"Bring forth the hammer to bless our union!" he eagerly cried. "Make ready for our vows. I will have Freya to wife, and Thor shall have his Mjolnir again."

From out of the earth they brought the hammer and placed it in my lap as pledge and proof of Thrym's power. My heart swelled and beneath the veil I smiled once my weapon was again in my grasp. You can imagine what happened then. We slew the jotuns, my hammer and I, with Thrym the first to fall. When all were dispatched Loki and I returned with glad hearts to Asgard.

_All without changing clothes?_

With our goal achieved, we thought not of our appearance.

_Hear that, guys? Thor has totally kicked ass wearing a dress. He is officially more hardcore than any of you._

It was not much more difficult than wearing my usual attire. And it was surprisingly comfortable as well, especially for my nether regions. I recommend all men try it.

_I'm sure we'll keep that in mind._

_Thanks for story time, Thor._

You are most welcome, my sister. I hope you all enjoyed the tale, for it was my pleasure to tell.


	24. Team Science

**Disclaimer:** I don't have a Wii. I've never even played one. I think there's a caffeine-free Diet Coke in the fridge, though.

Please excuse the made-up Latin and the attempt at a Latin joke. If you don't get it, look at the periodic table.

This is the first chapter since this fic got over 100 favorites. Thank you guys! *awkward happy dance*

Amanda, this is for you! Hope you like it.

* * *

Tony stopped in his path and did an elaborate double-take. "_What_ is _that_?" he demanded, pointing an accusing forefinger at Bruce.

Bruce turned, glancing down at the can in his hand. "Caffeine-free Diet Coke?" he said, confused about Tony's reaction. The can wasn't dripping on anything, and he hadn't opened it yet…

"Not that. _That_." Tony shook his finger lower, walking forward until he'd properly invaded Bruce's personal space. He grabbed the hem of Bruce's shirt and tugged on it, which was distinctly worrying. Bruce glanced down and was reminded what shirt he'd put on that morning.

Bless Darcy for not choosing green. The simple white letters ironed on a navy blue heather background proclaimed him a member of Team Science, and the back bore his surname. It was soft and comfy and it made Bruce feel better than any other t-shirt ever had.

Except now that Tony was plucking at it in agitation. "This is gross inequality and injustice! I can't believe _you_ got a shirt for doing one thing—"

"If you count all the tests separately it was more like fifty things." Bruce calmly smoothed the shirt down over his stomach, brushing Tony's hands away in the process. Then he took a step back and opened his soda.

"—And after all I've done for her I still haven't gotten one. This is just wrong. I _founded_ Team Science."

"I think Archimedes and a few others might disagree with that," Bruce mused.

"I am Team Science's MVP."

"Again, you might run into some disagreement there. Einstein, Hawking, Newton…"

"_I let her borrow my car!_" Tony cried.

Bruce was about to point out that it wasn't like lending out one of his several cars had been a big hardship on Tony, but then he saw the genuine hurt deep in the other man's eyes. Instead he said, "I'm sure she'll make you one if you ask."

"Did _you_ have to ask?" Stark demanded.

"No, but—"

"JARVIS, where is Darcy?"

_She is currently downstairs, Wii bowling with Mr. Barton_.

"Great." Tony stalked out of the lab, leaving a sighing Bruce behind him.

Darcy had just rolled a 7-10 split when Tony stormed in. There was no way she was going to beat Clint, even if she picked up the spare, so anything Tony had to say wasn't really going to affect the outcome of the game.

"We need to have a serious discussion, young lady!" It came out sounding oddly dad-like, which weirded both of them out a little. Darcy chose not to show it; the number one rule when dealing with Tony was never show weakness.

She huffed instead. "Again?"

"Told ya we should've gone actual bowling," Clint muttered, throwing his arm back. Tony wondered distantly if the archer's good aim extended to other things as well; he got a strike and, with his curiosity assuaged, Tony turned his attention back to Darcy. He allowed himself to get a little histrionic.

"How could you do this to me? How could you betray me like this?"

That caught her attention. "Whoa, whoa," she said, eyes widening. "What's going on?"

It was hard to derail Tony when he'd built up a good head of steam. "And with my partner, my teammate, my best friend, my lab bro."

"Is this—is this about the _shirt_?" Darcy asked, realization dawning. She put a hand to her forehead in relief.

Tony glared, crossing his arms, which was answer enough. Darcy grinned.

"You're jealous of Dr. B because he got a shirt and you didn't," she accused gleefully.

"Why do you always call him Dr. B?" Clint asked from the couch. "He wouldn't care if you called him Bruce, like everybody else does."

Darcy's glance flicked past Tony, but he didn't seem to notice. "I know, but I figure someone around here should remember that he's a doctor."

Tony brought their attention back to the important issue of himself. "I am not jealous."

"For the first time you're not the coolest kid and you're totally jealous," Darcy surmised.

"How can they be cool? Ever Thor has one."

"If they're not cool, why are you jealous?" she asked. "Besides, don't you think Dr. B deserves his shirt?"

"Sure, but—"

Darcy barreled on. "Don't you have tons of stuff that he's never had? Don't you think he deserves to have something that you don't, that's special and cool?"

Tony's expression was changing to something more thoughtful. "Yes."

"Then let him have his moment."

"But I'm part of Team Science!" Tony blurted, leaning forward, hands clenching into fists in a grasping motion in front of his chest. Then he stopped himself, dropping his arms to his sides and standing up straight, feeling foolish.

Darcy knew deep down that she shouldn't tease him anymore, but she did it anyway. "Tony Stark, anxious to belong? Really wanting to be part of a team?"

He looked her in the eye and answered seriously, "If it's Bruce's team, then hell yes I want on it."

"Well…" She nodded at something behind him and Tony turned. "I guess we should give you this, then."

A very pleased-looking Bruce set the thin box down on the top of the couch. "If she hadn't let up in a minute I was going to insist she stop torturing you," he claimed.

"I notice you waited until you heard me say nice things about you first," Tony said gruffly. Bruce shrugged, but didn't stop smiling. It had been kind of low of Darcy to set Tony up like that, but Bruce was fairly certain he wouldn't hold a grudge.

"Open it already," Darcy insisted. "It's not like it's gonna blow up or anything." Tony pulled the top off the box and picked up the note.

_Dear Homo ferrus,  
I thought having a flying suit pretty well advertised that you were one of Team Science's stars, but Dr. B thought you should get a shirt, too. You should be proud of your accomplishments: the Starks have been batting a thousand for Team Science for a long time, and we (and me especially) owe you all a lot, so thanks. May you always wear it in good health.  
Love,  
D_

The shirt was red, of course, with the desired text, in gold, arranged in a circle. He knew it would frame the casing of the arc reactor; his first thought was that he wasn't sure how she'd managed that, but then he shook that idea away. Darcy was resourceful and more creative than she believed. She'd have borrowed one of his shirts via Pepper, gotten Bruce to take measurements, used photos JARVIS had taken. It wouldn't have been a problem for her to make it perfect. He turned the shirt around; there was his name sparkling on the back. Tony smiled weakly, suddenly feeling like a huge sap.

"I hope you appreciate that the glittery letters are more expensive than the regular ones," Darcy pointed out. "But I think the effect is worth it."

Tony looked at the devious young woman in front of him. "Yeah, I can work with this," he said, his tone lightly dismissive.

"You're welcome, you tool," she sighed jokingly, rolling her eyes. They stood awkwardly looking at each other for a minute until Clint jabbed Tony in the back with the controller.

"Just hug her like you're a normal human being, man," he muttered.

Tony groaned. "Ugh, fine." He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Darcy. Over her shoulder he saw Clint shake his head affectionately; behind him he knew Bruce was still beaming. Darcy looped her arms around Tony, and he smiled against her hair.

And just when it was getting too mushy for him she said, "Welcome to the team," and sealed it with a firm smack to his ass.


	25. Nightmares

It's been pretty fluffy round these parts lately, so here's some angst.

Thank you all for reading and reviewing and following and favoriting. And to Spring of Darkness: I would've sent you a PM but yours is disabled, so thanks for your review and for liking my everybody but especially Clint.

* * *

Everything was tinged with blue. He moved slowly, like running through syrup. He wasn't in control of his actions. He was a puppet, a pawn, a tool. His consciousness screamed in the depths of his mind; he knew exactly what was happening, he knew he was, for the first time, committing murder, murder after murder, enough for a just system to put him to death. But there was no just system. There would be no relatively quick death from a needle. He wouldn't even be allowed to kill himself to escape the horror of what he'd done. He would go on dangling at the end of the strings until he dripped with blood, and nothing short of immolation would cleanse him of his guilt, and though he hung above the fire it would never touch him.

It was freezing, and he couldn't move. And he saw his whole life unfold before him: saw his parents suffer and die wracked with coughs, saw a weak boy become what they called a hero, saw his best friend drop screaming into the canyon, saw the water rush up again and take him under. And after that he saw the life he'd never gotten to live, and the deaths he'd been spared the first time around, and was just as powerless to prevent them. Then he saw the same thing over again but with his new friends starring, and they died and died and he kept watching, motionless and awake and alone and cold.

Once the monster was unleashed there was no stopping it. It was worse than any other time, because this time there was no threat, no enemy; there was just pure, blind rage. It was determined, inasmuch as a dumb beast could be determined, to destroy everything in its path. He thought it would stop when he saw the familiar flash of red, but it ripped the red to shreds fiercely, without malice. He knew he couldn't stop it, and didn't try; he gave in to the inevitable devastation, hoping weakly that it would stop soon. But this time his conscious mind sank deeper and deeper, slipping away, until he was left without any thought. He was the monster—there was only the monster left—he would continue to tear apart the world mindlessly without anything to stop him.

He was falling, clawing at the air for something to stop him, weak and powerless. He had failed his family and his friends; he knew they would suffer without him, without his strength to aid them. From somewhere far above his mother was calling for him, begging him to return and take up his father's place; his brother was pleading for his help, as he had done when he woke scared in the night when they were children; and he was still falling, further and further away from them, their voices ringing clear in his ears. He flailed and fought to right himself, as if he could somehow pull himself up by will alone. If anything he fell faster, never reaching an end or a bottom, but watching the stars fade and go out as he passed until he was falling through utter darkness, through a void that throbbed with all the pain he'd caused.

He didn't understand. They tried again and again to explain, but he couldn't grasp it, and it was important that he understand. They were counting on him; people would die if he couldn't solve this problem. He knew that he should understand. He knew it should be easy. But he just couldn't figure it out, though everything in him, every cell demanded that he _get it_. In the dark of a cavern he remembered knowing things. He remembered the ease with which he once calculated. He remembered taking it for granted that he could see into the hearts of machines and know how they worked. He remembered writing code practically in his sleep, creating the most complex, sophisticated programs. Remembering all that made it so much worse when he couldn't do it anymore, and for his failure innocent people, people he knew, people he loved died in front of him, one after the other.

Her body did terrible things as he pleaded beneath her. His cries meant nothing; they only made her work harder to hurt him more. She took her time, making it last, enjoying his desperation, savoring it. She wasn't just killing him: she was taking him apart, little by little, destroying him, taking out everything that meant something to them: breaking every bone in his hands, gouging out his eyes, saying things that she didn't mean—could never mean—with such ease and conviction that he had no choice to believe. When he finally stopped fighting and gave up, the disgusting mess of her handiwork that had once been her teammate, her friend, she snapped his neck. His last breath was her name and she realized that she felt nothing, no pity or pain or compassion, and that scared her most of all.

He was crumpled in a heap, and all of her planning and worrying hadn't been able to save him. She felt like the wind had been knocked out of her, and she struggled to breathe. She couldn't, though, and she knew it was hopeless, but she kept trying, heaving and sucking in uselessly as tears streamed down her face. The others were there, trying to help, trying to comfort her, but it was no good, and she gasped and gasped. Her brain told her she couldn't live with no oxygen, no air, that she would die soon, and she accepted it, but it didn't happen. She kept shuddering and wheezing and seeing him slam into the concrete, hearing the crunch of metal and bone, and every moment felt like that impact, every second was the color of his blood and she wanted to stop trying to breathe and die but she just couldn't.

There were no stars in the sky above her. Night after night she sat staring, but there was only darkness. She slept during the days and woke at dusk to search, but it didn't change; there was no moon waxing or waning overhead, there were no planets or stars twinkling through the atmosphere. There was only an empty dome of sky, rimmed by the orange glow of city lights. The blankness was terrifying. If there was nothing in the sky, then everything she'd worked for was gone. There was nothing to look for, nothing to wait for, nothing to live for. And yet she couldn't give up, she couldn't quit; she had to continue watching, just in case there was a chance or hope or something somewhere out there. So she started walking out across the desert at night, searching the skies for a cure to the numb dread that filled her every moment.

They apologized and she collapsed, nothing left to hold her up. All of them were gone, all at once. She would stand up again. She would go on. But nothing would ever be the same. It was like all of the color had been leached out of the world; everything was flat, dull, grey. If she had never known them, if they had never existed, it would be better, easier. But she knew exactly what was missing at every moment. She knew what words were not being said, she knew what smiles and laughs were absent. She heard voices all the time and it was worse than being crazy because they were real, and she wanted to hear them. And she knew that one day it would fade, the pain and the memories alike, and light and color would seep back in, and she would want to smile again, and on that day, having rebuilt the world and saved herself in their honor, she would join them.


	26. Mead

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any Marvel characters or any Eagles songs, sadly.

ChamberlinofMusic, you've won the reviewer of the week prize! Which is that I thank you by name right here, and say it certainly is British "Top Gear." Thanks!

By this point, if you've not read several of the previous chapters, you're going to miss kind of a lot.

If you've only had mead in the US, or if you've only read Mr. Wednesday's description in _American Gods_ (and if you haven't read that, then WHAT ARE YOU **DOING** reading this crappy fanfiction about Norse mythology when you could be reading the most amazing fanfiction ever written about mythology?), then you're missing out. I'm basing Asgardian mead on Central European _medovina_/_miód_, which is The Best. I have about half a bottle of the homemade stuff left and I'm hoarding it jealously.

Sources: the Viking Answer Lady's article on "Alcoholic Beverages and Drinking Customs of the Viking Age," Grimnismol from the Poetic Edda

_Kornamúli_ means "grain-snout," which I figure means you like to either drink or eat a lot. Whichever one it is, it can't be that complimentary.

* * *

"All right, Big Thunder Mountain. Your hammer arrived on Earth independent of you, right?"

Tony, Thor and Bruce sat around a table in one of the conference rooms. There were tablets on the table in front of the two scientists, and a pad of paper and pen in front of the god. Thor had been confused when he was invited to "brainstorm." So far it wasn't what he'd expected; frankly, he was disappointed.

"Indeed. I…departed first, with no idea what awaited me at the end of my journey. Mjolnir then arrived sometime later, having been cast through the branches of Yggdrasil by Odin All-father."

"So if you chucked something from Asgard it could end up here."

Bruce shook his head. "Not a good idea. First, it'd have to be an unbreakable container—Mjolnir's made from some kind of cosmic metal, right?"

Thor nodded. "Crafted by the dwarves, the greatest smiths in all the worlds."

"Right," Tony said slowly.

Bruce went on. "It'd be prohibitively expensive to fabricate something that could withstand unknown speeds and temperatures." Tony raised an eyebrow at the suggestion that anything could be too expensive for him, but didn't interrupt. Bruce tapped at his tablet and a picture appeared in the air in front of them. It showed a large crater in the desert somewhere; Thor recognized it and grinned. "Second, this is what happened when Mjolnir landed. We can't risk causing something like that. Fury would have our heads."

"Scrap throwing it, then." Tony ran his hand through his hair, standing it up in tufts. "We should be able to figure this out. We need a—a—an interdimensional teleportation device."

"Yeah, but the problem there is having a transmitter/receiver on both ends. It'd be a piece of cake rigging one up on this end, but doing it in Asgard might be tough."

Thor had a general idea what they meant, but it seemed overly complicated. "My friends, perhaps you make this more difficult than it needs be. What I wear comes with me. Thus I shall put it in a bag or sack and strap the bag around me. And I shall be careful where I land," he added.

"Could it be that easy?" Tony mused. "It's never really possibly that easy."

For once it was. Tony moped about it for a solid hour.

* * *

They were almost all gathered in the tower, waiting for the final members of their party to show up. Thor insisted everyone be present before he so much as reveal the goods; Tony seriously contemplated pouring himself a whiskey in the meantime, but Pepper, as if reading his mind, shook her head.

"Sorry I'm late," Darcy called breathlessly, rushing in. "_Somebody_ was being a big old spoilsport." She jerked her head back at the person following her in. "Who refuses to believe they're invited to a superhero mead-tasting party?"

"Well, when you put it that way, it's hard to understand why he wouldn't believe it," Clint snarked, and she slugged his arm as she passed. Phil joined the group and Pepper gave him a brief hug.

"Alas, this mead will not compare to that which Coulson drank in Valhalla," Thor lamented. Tony gave the agent a skeptical look; the other man shrugged minutely. "That mead comes from the udder of the goat Heiðrún, which eats the leaves of Yggdrasil."

"I am very glad this is not that mead," Steve said under his breath.

Jane looked utterly confused. "But if the world tree is a metaphor for the arrangement of astronomical bodies, what is this goat? Something that eats stars is a...black hole...?"

"Give it up, Dr. Foster," Tony suggested, patting her on the shoulder. "We have strict rules here against mixing drinking and science. Well, Pepper has strict rules against it."

"And that's what matters," Pepper said.

"What is your thing with goats, anyway?" Clint asked Thor. "You've got your chariot goats, and this goat that gives mead... Are there any other goats we need to know about?"

As Thor set the pack he'd been cuddling to his chest down, Natasha forestalled his answer to Clint's question by musing, "Mead's kind of a big deal with you guys, huh?"

He nodded. "Once there was a wise man, Kvasir, formed of the spit of two divine families. Kvasir was a teacher; his knowledge was so prized that two dwarves slew him, drained his blood, and mixed it with honey. It became the Mead of Poetry, and any who drank of it gained wisdom and the skill of a wordsmith."

There was a moment of silence as everyone took this in. Then Bruce said slowly, "It's nice to know that someone appreciates knowledge."

They heard a faint but encouraging sloshing noise from within as Thor pulled a metal casket, shining dully, from the pack. "Dwarf-made," he explained, undoing the catches and opening the lid. "Both stronger and lighter than iron forged by men." Tony's eyes lit up.

"No science, you said it yourself," Pepper reminded him. When Tony opened his mouth to protest she said firmly, "Science or drinking. Your choice." His mouth shut.

From the box Thor lifted aside a clump of what looked like unspun wool. Reaching in with both hands, he removed a bottle made of thick, faintly blue-green glass. The top was sealed with wax, presumably to prevent it from leaking during the journey. The bottle didn't look particularly big in Thor's hands.

"That's all?" Darcy sounded simultaneously disappointed and incredulous. "Look around: there's a god, a super soldier, a Russian, a heavyweight drinker and two middleweights, a zombie, two normals, and our designated driver. We ought to be able to finish more than that." There were a variety of disgruntled and dissenting reactions to Darcy's description, but everyone seemed to agree with her conclusion.

"It is more than enough," he answered, "even for this esteemed company, _kornamúli_."

She narrowed her eyes up at him. "I have no idea what that means, but I'm remembering it and looking it up later."

The liquid inside was paler than honey. It seemed to glow in itself, throwing splashes of golden light around the room as it moved. Pepper brought a tray of glasses from the bar to the table.

"Whatever happens tonight, just consider it payback for all the times I had to watch all of you get drunk," Steve said.

Tony glanced at him. "That sounds vaguely ominous. Just remember the house rules."

"Which are…?"

"You break it, you bought it. And under no circumstances is anyone to do anything I wouldn't do."

"Don't you mean anything you _would_ do?"

"That, too."

"By the way, Thor, did you happen to bring any Asgardian hangover remedies?" Bruce asked.

"My father has said 'Best is an ale feast when a man is able to call back his wits at once.'"

"I'd take that as a no," Clint told Bruce.

Jane had the duty of handing around the glasses. When Thor had filled the first one, she thanked him formally, calling him "my lord," which Bruce took to mean there was some Asgardian significance to what was going on. She then handed the glass to Coulson, who blinked in surprise as he took it. "We're very glad you're here. Enjoy the party," she said with a smile. He returned the smile and murmured his thanks.

When she handed Tony his, he was not impressed. "I've gotten my drink on on all seven continents. I've broken several laws concerning the consumption of liquor and nearly caused international incidents over import/export limits. I've drunk things that would have made a lesser man go blind. I think I can handle more than this," he said as he accepted a shot glass less than half full of mead.

"You are about to be the first mortals to taste the fruit of Asgard's distilleries. I do not know what effect this could have on you. I ask you to be cautious; I would hate to cause you harm." Thor paused for a moment, then suggested, "Think of it as an experiment." He beamed hopefully at Tony; the latter at least had the grace to appreciate Thor's effort at appealing to his better (or at least more curious) nature and half-smirked.

Jane handed a half-full highball glass to Steve, then held one of the same size as Thor poured for himself. She handed him the nearly-full glass. "Has everyone their drink?" he asked, looking around at the group.

"You're not having any, Jane?" Pepper asked.

She shook her head. "I tried some on my visit to Asgard. Turns out I'm a total cosmic-liquor lightweight. And it wouldn't hurt to have more than one responsible, sober adult around."

"Hey, we have JARVIS. He's responsible and sober enough for all of us."

_Thank you for the vote of confidence, Miss Lewis_.

"No problem, buddy."

Everyone gave nods of assent to Thor's question, and he declared, "Then let us drink: to victory; to peace and prosperity; to our company, that our deeds be mighty and our friendship unshaken." The others smiled at his heartfelt words—there may even have been some welling eyes, especially from usually stoic government operatives—then raised their glasses and sipped.

The mead tasted like sunlight and warm air. It was sweet, with the hint of other flavors, faint spices just at the edges, and thicker than normal wine, too. Even the most prosaic of the group would say that it tasted like gold. Natasha held up her glass for Bruce to smell, and he imagined he could see vapor wavering in the air above it. Even the scent was heady, like breathing in a summer day.

"A little sweet, but it certainly goes down easy," Tony noted. He took another sip and felt warmth spread through him as the mead slipped down his throat.

"Watch out," Jane warned, "it'll sneak up on you."

* * *

When you were with well-behaved drunks, it wasn't bad being one of the sober ones, Bruce thought. He really hoped no one would turn out to be the other kind of drunk.

Everyone had settled into the living area, taking delicate sips of the liquor. However much Thor had had, he didn't seem affected in any way. He and Jane sat together talking quietly; Bruce noticed that for all he seemed at ease, Thor was also keeping a close eye on the others and the level of their drinks.

Clint had drunk more quickly than anyone else, and now had a dopey grin on his face aimed at no one in particular. Anytime someone said anything that was remotely funny, he giggled. Bruce hoped he wouldn't climb anything too high.

Natasha wasn't acting any different from the way she usually did, but her posture was relaxed to a degree bordering on bonelessness, and her eyes were bright. She was used to knocking back shots of hard liquor with ease, so it wasn't really surprising to see her handling the mead well. Sitting there observing with a small smile on her face she kind of reminded Bruce of a cat; he wondered if she'd purr.

Tony and Pepper were on the couch. Pepper, eyes half closed, was petting Tony, running her fingers through his hair, her head tucked against his shoulder. He didn't seem to notice; he was talking to Coulson, who, like Tasha, had abandoned his posture of eternal vigilance in favor of something more comfortable. Although, Bruce thought, that could have just been because he wasn't wearing a suit. All the times Bruce could remember seeing the man, he'd been wearing a dark suit; the jeans and t-shirt he wore now probably contributed to his air of ease. Tony was leaning toward Coulson, focused on the other man.

"Anything you want, anything you need, you just have to ask. Because you're important to us here. You take care of us, so we'll take care of you." The agent nodded, a smile on his face.

Bruce's gaze swung around the room and landed on Darcy. Her glass was empty, but she looked alert and, more importantly, fully clothed. He joined her. "If I remember Thor's welcome back party correctly, you had a few shots and ended up blitzed. Yet here you are with an empty glass and no ill effects. What's up?"

"Okay, first off, it takes me more than a few shots to get blitzed. Second, I had a sip, just to try it, but I don't want to miss what is possibly my one opportunity to see Steve drunk," she explained. Then Darcy grinned and added, "I poured the rest of mine into his glass when he wasn't looking."

Bruce wasn't sure that had been the best idea, but declined to say so. Darcy added, "PS, nobody else needs to know I'm not drunk. Drunk people get away with a lot more nonsense." Like she ever needed an excuse.

"You don't think they'll notice?"

"Not if _they're _drunk."

The two of them turned their attention to the approaching Steve. A flush was steadily building on his face. He sat down close to Darcy.

"How're you feeling, slugger?" Darcy asked. His glass was noticeably emptier than it had been originally.

He smiled happily at them. "Fine. Great. I like this stuff."

"Gettin' a little red there, I see."

"Yeah, it's kind of warm in here. Maybe I should open a window." He moved to rise, but Darcy tugged on his arm; he sagged back and wrapped his arm around Darcy's waist, pulling her flush to his side.

"We'll ask JARVIS to cool it down a little, okay? I don't want you inadvertently breaking a window or something."

Ever the scientist, Bruce asked Steve, "Can you tell a difference between now and the last time you drank any alcohol?"

Steve nodded enthusiastically. "It's...not exactly fuzzy, but not as sharp as usual, you know? I can feel it."

"Did you ever get drunk before the serum?" Darcy hoped he wouldn't mind answering, especially not in front of Dr. B.

"Nope. There were already too many things wrong with me; I wouldn't've been able to handle much, so I kept a pretty good lid on it. Had to help Bucky home a time or two, though."

Darcy didn't want him going to Bucky-land tonight, so she redirected. "So you've never had a hangover?" He shook his head. "I might have to hate you if you manage to go your entire life without experiencing a hangover."

Steve laughed big and bright and picked up his glass. "Can't have that," he said, and took a healthy swallow of mead.

Bruce gave Darcy a look of mild disapproval. She shrugged a little, smiling not quite innocently. Steve noticed the movement and reached for Bruce, patting his leg. "Don't worry, Bruce. I appreciate it, but don't do it. Not now."

"I'm going to get some water. You boys want anything?" Darcy offered. Steve shook his head, but Bruce's look said he wanted her to bring Steve some water anyway. Before he let her get up, Steve kissed her on the side of the neck. Darcy's breath caught; she didn't even try to disguise her expression of delight as she stood. Steve watched her walk away, grinning goofily, and then turned his attention back to his teammate, shifting his leg so that it nudged against one of Bruce's.

"Bruce."

"Yeah, Steve."

"If you had a choice, would you rather turn some other color than green?"

Bruce chuckled.

* * *

"How is he?" Jane asked.

"He's the most adorable drunk _ever_," Darcy gushed, leaning on Thor's shoulder and resting her dark head against his light one. "I think I want him to be tipsy all the time."

"He does seem even more puppy-like than usual," the other woman observed.

"I think Tony and Dr. B should spend all their efforts creating a Midgardian alcohol that will achieve this same effect on him."

Jane nodded. "Yes, that's much better than renewable energy or disease control or clean water."

"Just wait until you see him. Then you'll agree for real. He's so cute they should just drop him off in war zones and make everybody look at him. No one'll want to fight then. Worst case scenario, they have to send a baby animal in with him. Boom, world peace."

_Excuse me, Dr. Foster, but the food has arrived._

Darcy shot up. "I'll go!"

"Take Thor," Jane insisted. "He can help you carry everything up." And you'll keep him from being too otherworldly to the delivery guy and he'll keep you from getting mugged for the sandwiches, she added silently.

"Fine. Thor, piggyback ride?" Darcy requested, giving him a pleading look. He nodded and stood, and Darcy climbed on the chair and from there onto his back.

"Oof," he said as she hopped up. "You've grown stout lately. I'll no longer be able to call you little sister."

She flicked his ear. "Just walk, you overgrown bilgesnipe."

* * *

Natasha drifted over to join Bruce and Steve, silently taking the spot Darcy had vacated. Steve almost immediately propped his elbow on her shoulder. She didn't seem to mind, and didn't join the conversation, just lounged comfortably next to him.

"What would happen if you got a tattoo? Would the Other Guy have the same tattoo?"

"I don't know. Never really considered it before," Bruce answered with a small shrug.

Steve looked thoughtful. "Maybe we could do an experiment. Maybe before the next time you get big we could give you some kind of marking and see if it stays." It actually wasn't a terrible idea; there were some flaws in it, but Steve was tipsy, so he got points for effort.

"I don't really want a tattoo, though."

"It doesn't have to be an actual tattoo. It could be a temporary one, or just marker. If you had a tattoo, what would it be?" Steve asked. Then, without giving Bruce time to answer, he suggested, "Something scientific?"

"'Property of Stark Industries,'" Natasha offered in a lazy purr, sounding just as feline as he'd imagined. Bruce returned her deadpan gaze as Steve laughed uproariously, shaking the whole couch.

"Maybe something less literal, and inappropriate. Probably something geometric. Abstract."

Steve turned to Natasha. "What would you get?"

"Who's to say I don't already have one?"

Steve's blue eyes sparked with curiosity. "Do you?" She didn't answer, just kept that same enigmatic expression, and he demanded, "What is it? _Where _is it? Can I see it?" When she kept mum, he snapped his fingers and leapt to his feet. "Where's Clint? He'll tell me." Without waiting for an answer Steve loped away, looking for the archer.

Natasha turned her smile on Bruce, one eyebrow arched. "So…do you?" he wondered helplessly, not at all expecting the mercy of an answer.

She leaned forward, as if about to impart some great knowledge, and even though Bruce knew better, he leaned in, too. When she spoke, he shook his head, more at himself than at her.

"You know I don't speak German, Natasha." That didn't stop her from continuing to use it. "Now you're just teasing me," he murmured.

She lifted her glass to her lips. "_Prost_," she said, rolling the R for longer than was strictly necessary.

"_Budem zdorovy_," he corrected, a little awkwardly, and Natasha smiled warmly.

* * *

"Have you seen Clint?" Steve asked. Pepper blinked sleepily, one of her hands holding Tony's arm tightly around her. On his other side Coulson slouched into the sofa, head resting on one balled fist. "And do you have a marker?"

"Clint disappeared somewhere a while ago," Coulson said, straightening up slightly. "D'you want me to help you look? I bet I could find him pretty quickly."

"Nah, 's okay. Thanks. Marker, Tony?"

Tony gestured vaguely. "In the drawer by the thing. Coffee maker. I think."

When Steve had already wandered off Tony called, "Don't write on anything I own!"

* * *

Steve rummaged through all the drawers in the vicinity of the coffee maker until he found a black permanent marker. Then he grabbed a red one and a blue one, just in case, and shoved all three in a pocket.

"Hey, Steve," Jane called. Steve changed course to stop at the table.

"Hi, Dr. Foster."

"You know you can call me Jane," she said. Steve smiled crookedly and nodded.

Thor pulled out a chair next to him. "Sit with us a moment, Steve."

Steve took the seat, scooting it close to Thor's side. "Thanks for doing this," he said, looping his arm around Thor's shoulders. "It's nice to feel normal, you know?"

"But you are not normal," Thor said. "Why would you wish to be?"

The question seemed to stump Steve momentarily. Then he shrugged loosely and said, "Because everybody else is."

Jane snorted rather loudly. "Not around here they're not."

Thor shifted the conversation away from such existential topics. "How do you like the mead?"

"It's good, it's good. I never really did like the taste of beer, so…" He seemed to think that explained enough.

"Would you like a bit more?"

"And a sandwich?" Jane offered, pushing the platter toward him. She didn't want him incapacitated or getting alcohol poisoning—if that was even possible. She didn't want to risk it at any rate.

"Yeah, that'd be good." He looked around for his glass; Jane picked a new one and handed it to Thor, who filled it halfway. Steve took a swig before grabbing the closest sub off the tray and starting to munch on it, apparently not concerned about what was on it. Jane suddenly thought of a college boyfriend who'd been a fussy eater, and felt a surge of affection for the man currently stuffing his face across from her because he'd grown up in the Depression and would probably never turn down a free sandwich for the rest of his life, no matter what kind of sandwich it was.

Steve wasn't sure why pretty Dr. Foster was suddenly gazing at him with a fond expression and misty eyes, but he smiled at her anyway, his cheeks bulging. She laughed at that and Steve giggled, too.

* * *

"_Have _you seen Clint lately?"

Natasha shook her head. "But don't worry. He's around somewhere." No sooner had she said it than a tinny voice could be heard singing.

"_Come on, baby, don't say maybe, I've gotta know if your sweet love is gonna save me_…"

Somehow, the voice didn't make it any easier to pinpoint his location. She nudged Bruce's arm. "That's the Eagles, doc. Does it count?"

Bruce nodded automatically, and then stopped himself. "You know?" he asked, answering the question immediately. "No, of course you know. I bet he knows, too." But he still took out his phone and made a note, and Natasha, with a secretive smile on her face, hummed along vaguely to Clint's singing.

* * *

"How's it going, Uncle Phil?" Darcy asked, dropping onto the cushion next to the most mellow-looking agent. He raised his glass to her with a tilt of his head. She tapped her bottle of water against the glass, and he took a tiny sip. "How does the regular old stuff compare to the goat-mead of Valhalla?"

"I have to say I'm enjoying this vintage more." And he was enjoying it; it was so rare for Coulson to get time off that he was making the most of the warm golden buzz in his brain.

"I'm sure Thor would find that impossible. Anyway, we all know that's just your way of saying you love us and you're ecstatic to be here with your favoritest people in the world." She grinned cheesily at him.

"You found me out," he deadpanned. "And I thought I'd been doing so well in hiding it."

"Not much gets past me, slim. So tell me about Valhalla. Are the Valkyrie hot, or just kind of scary?" She rested her chin on the heel of her hand and waited for his answer, genuinely interested.

Coulson stared at her for a moment longer than he normally would have. Darcy stared back, one eyebrow raised slightly; she certainly didn't look like she was joking. "Do you really believe that stuff?" he finally asked. "I know Thor does, because that's his life, but has he convinced you, too?"

She sighed good-naturedly. "Agent Coulson. Dear, sweet, mildly inebriated Uncle Phil. It is your job to deal with gods and aliens and superheroes and other great improbabilities. My best friend is all of the above, my boyfriend is half of those. I think we're past the point of quote-unquote believing in stuff when it's right in front of our faces. If the guy from another world says there's a heaven for the most badassed of warriors, then I sure as hell believe you've been there."

His lips twitched briefly; then he let go and smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. "You _are _a good girl."

She started to make some sarcastic comment in reply, but his arm snaking around her shoulders for a brief, awkward hug stopped her.

* * *

"I found markers!" Steve called triumphantly around a mouthful of meatball grinder. He swallowed, washed it down with a sip of mead, and plopped down. "Ready for step one of the experiment."

Bruce found himself pushing his sleeve up to his shoulder. "Not the red," he said. "I don't want the Other Guy to look like some twisted Christmas tree."

Steve tossed the red marker to the floor. "Black'll stand out more against green," he said, and Bruce shrugged. "Did you think of what you want?"

"I got something. Pay attention, all right?" Even through the alcohol haze Steve's focus was kicking in. The smell of permanent ink filled the air around them as Steve uncapped the marker; Bruce tried not to think of all the reasons this was a dumb idea. He closed his eyes, picturing the image in his head. "First draw a small circle. Make it about…an inch in diameter. Around the circle, tangent to it, draw a square. Then draw a triangle around the square—the top corners of the square should touch the sides of the triangle, and they should share the same base. And last, a circle around the triangle."

Steve drew with one hand and held the skin of Bruce's arm taut with the other. The biggest sign of his altered state was the tip of his tongue poking between his lips. He squinted as he worked, repeating "Circle, square, triangle, circle" to himself.

"What does it mean?" Natasha asked. Bruce opened his eyes and looked away from Steve's bent head to her.

"It's the symbol for squaring the circle, something mathematically impossible. And in alchemy it's creation of the philosopher's stone, the thing that will change anything to its highest state. Make it perfect. Lead into gold."

Natasha's eyes were the saddest he'd ever seen them and he kicked himself for being a downer once again. Bruce opened his mouth to apologize and she reached out and touched his arm and whatever was going to be said was interrupted by Darcy.

"Dr. B, why are you letting Steve draw the Deathly Hallows on you?"

* * *

Natasha slunk away somewhere, and Bruce, sleeve still pushed up as the ink dried, went to check on the others. Darcy took a seat facing Steve, who put one of his hands on her knee, the warmth of his touch radiating through her.

"I love you, Darce." Steve's eyes were intent and his hair was kind of flopping over his forehead and it was a good thing he was already her boyfriend or Darcy totally would have had to talk herself out of taking advantage of a drunk guy.

"I know," she answered, voice self-satisfied and content.

"Do you love me?"

She snorted. "Do you really have to ask?"

"Yes. I mean, no, I know, but..." The hand on her knee tightened momentarily. He fixed her with an earnest, pleading look that just about killed her and said, "Tell me you love me."

She leaned forward, eyes fixed on his, hating that he doubted it. She laid a hand against his cheek; he nuzzled against her palm and reached out to grasp her free hand. With all of the conviction she could command Darcy said quietly, "Steven Grant Rogers, I love you." Her heart soared as his face registered delight before she kissed him soundly. The taste of honey lingered on his lips and tongue.

"Love you, too," he repeated, murmuring the words against her lips. Their knees knocked together as he scooted closer to her, sliding his hand up her thigh to her waist. Darcy knew it would be rude to leave the party, but she really, _really _wanted to drag him to his room right about now.

"What about me?" Tony demanded, appearing behind her and completely ruining any moment they'd been having. At being caught like this sober Steve would have darted back, blushing red and apologizing to everyone involved; drunk Steve just smiled into the kiss, leaving it up to Darcy to pull back. He released his hold on her waist but kept their fingers locked together, resting on their knees.

She rolled her eyes, and when her breath was back said, "You're alright."

"_I_ love you, Tony," Steve declared, looking up at the other man.

"Gee whiz, Cap, we haven't even gone on one date yet." But Tony was smiling even as he said it.

"Yeah! It took forever for you to tell me, but you tell him at the drop of a hat? Uncool."

"I mean it, though," Steve said. "You're a good friend, Tony. And so is Bruce, and Thor, and Clint and Tasha and Pepper, and Jane. And Coulson. You're all good friends. I love all of you. I love everyone in this tower."

Tony and Darcy exchanged amused looks.

* * *

After that it wasn't long before everyone felt ready to turn in; Pepper was practically already passed out on the couch. When they started to say their goodnights they noticed that Clint was nowhere in sight.

"We really ought to find him before we turn in," Jane said, looking a little worried. "I don't want anything bad to happen to him."

Tony shrugged. "He'll be fine. He's probably already asleep in the vents or something."

"Has he actually climbed into the vents before? That can't be safe, especially not if he's been drinking." Jane was starting to fret; she knew Clint was a grown man, but she didn't feel right letting him stay missing, even within the tower. "When was the last time anyone saw him?"

There were assorted shrugs from the others. Jane fought the urge to roll her eyes at them, but reminded herself that A. they wouldn't notice or care and B. they also figured he could take care of himself. "Fine," she said a tad shortly. "Anybody have any idea where he could be? Or how we could find him?"

Most of the answers were unhelpful, generic things about looking up high or on the roof. Finally Natasha spoke up from where she'd appeared next to Bruce. He felt a light touch against his hand; the corner of his mouth turned up. "Desperado," she said. They looked at her blankly until she clarified. "If you sing 'Desperado,' he'll come out."

Jane looked around again. Nobody else was going to start, and she just wanted everyone accounted for before she got to sleep. So she cleared her throat and started to sing self-consciously.

Darcy deserved all the cupcakes in the world, because she joined in almost immediately. Neither of them were good singers by any stretch of the imagination, but that wasn't really the point. Darcy put her arm around her former boss' waist and swayed as they sang, and Jane smiled, fumbling over some of the words she didn't know and singing louder to match Darcy's enthusiasm.

One by one everyone who at least vaguely knew the song joined in. Their rendition certainly wasn't going to win them any Grammys, but it was loud, and Jane found herself grinning as they sang. Eventually she noticed that Clint had joined them and was singing along soulfully. She never did find out where he'd been hiding.

* * *

Thor pulled Steve's arm over his shoulders and walked slowly toward the captain's room. Darcy followed them, grateful to her friend for his help. Steve'd be sleeping on the couch otherwise—not that he was in any condition to mind. "How do you feel, my friend?" Thor asked as they walked.

"I don't think I can feel my teeth," Steve said, frowning slightly as he ran his tongue over them. "Is that normal?" Thor chuckled. When they reached the room Thor let Steve drop onto the bed.

"Thanks, bud, couldn't have done it without you," Darcy said. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and wished them goodnight. Darcy dug through Steve's dresser for a t-shirt to sleep in, saying, "All right, Stevie, I'm going to go brush my teeth. Try to get your PJs on, okay?" Steve nodded, yawning widely.

When Darcy got back to the room Steve was on his stomach, sprawled out like a starfish, effectively taking up most of the bed. He had at least managed to get his jeans off before he passed out. She nudged one of his legs experimentally, but it was immoveable; his only response was to snore loudly. Darcy sighed, leaned down and kissed Steve's cheek, and headed out to sleep on the couch.

* * *

Steve heard his door click open. Light from the hallway leaked into the room, and footsteps padded toward the bed.

"Good morning, sunshine."

He grunted, squinting up at Darcy. He brought a hand up and rubbed at his face. There was a taste and feeling in his mouth like he'd been licking a cat. He rolled over; the room throbbed and swayed sickeningly and he moaned. Darcy grinned.

"You'll be happy to know that I don't have to hate you," she informed him. It seemed to him that she was talking louder than was really necessary. "Congratulations on your first hangover."

"Last hangover. Only hangover. Ever," he swore, every word pounding in his head.

"Famous last words. Although for you, they're probably true. Bastard," she said amiably. She handed him a bottle of water. "Drink up. I've got some aspirin, too, but I don't know if that'll help." Steve took a big gulp, eyes screwed closed, and held out his hand, fingers flexing in a "gimme" motion. Without opening his eyes he pitched the pills Darcy gave him into his mouth, swallowing them with another drink.

She settled onto the bed next to him, leaning against the headboard. "Time for the test. We're going to see what you remember from last night. Do you remember giving Bruce a temporary tattoo?"

He held the water bottle to his forehead. "Yes," he answered slowly. "It was a…symbol for something. Circle, triangle, square… And I never got to ask Clint if Natasha has a tattoo," Steve lamented.

They covered a few more things, most of which Steve could recall, although the details were a bit fuzzy. Finally Darcy asked, "Do you remember telling Tony you love him?"

Steve turned his head to her quickly and immediately groaned in pain. Darcy, survivor of many a rough morning, had no sympathy, but laughed quietly. Steve groaned again and took a drink. "Yeah, I remember." He managed a small smile and said, "I just hope he doesn't expect to hear it all the time now," and then winced at Darcy's unrestrained laughter.

"Best hangover ever," she said, and with her next to him, he couldn't disagree.


	27. Rooster

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any Marvel characters. I do have a Portuguese rooster somewhere, but I can't find it. *cries*

Chronologically, this takes place after chapter 18, "Brighton Beach." Sorry they're out of order.

Thanks as usual for the reviews and favorites, etc. Also, I forgot to mention this last chapter, but if you want to read a good Coulson fic, check out "Sleep of the Just" by Thimble.

_Lisitsa_: female fox; _ptichka_: birdie.

* * *

Natasha woke up to a blinking icon on her phone alerting her to a new voicemail. It was most likely from Clint. She keyed in her password and listened, stretching lazily.

"You gotta go to Lisbon sometime, Tash. The view from the castle? Prime. Missed you, though. And I got you a present. See you soon. Stay safe."

He sounded like a tourist, or a businessman who'd been able to do some sightseeing. Even so, he shouldn't have left the message; it gave away too much. All the same it made her happy, because it meant he was safe and everything had gone well, even without her.

There was a very good reason Natasha's apartment had a balcony and Clint's a fire escape. When he got home and finished debriefing and had a shower he made his way to her place and let himself in from the outside, making enough noise to alert her to his presence—if you survived sneaking up on an assassin, you learned never to do it again. Natasha was in the armchair in the far corner of the living room, from which she could see both the door and the balcony. She glanced up from her book as he pulled off his jacket and dropped it on the small dining table. He didn't have any visible injuries and his gait was as even as usual; she let out the breath she'd been holding quietly.

He gave her a grin, leaning on the back of the other armchair, the far less comfortable one, as he untied his shoes. "How's the wrist?"

She held up her arm and rotated it for him. "Fine. Still grounded until it's cleared with medical, though. A few more days, I'm sure."

"Gotta let it heal good, _lisitsa_," he said in a mildly reproving way. Sometimes he liked to remind her that he was older and theoretically wiser than her. "You're no good to me busted."

"You're no good to me, period," she retorted. "How was it?"

"There was sunshine and I had this weird fish-nugget sandwich and almost drank too much really good wine. Rode this little old tram up to the castle in the morning, watched the sun come up over the city. It was like a dream come true." There was and would be no overt mention of the mission, not here in her apartment, but his description told her everything she needed to know.

"Thanks for rubbing it in. It snowed here." Clint laughed low and easy in the way that made him look so young. He wandered into the kitchen and grabbed a bottled water from the fridge.

"What'd you do while I was gone?" he called. Natasha heard him rooting around the kitchen, looking for something to eat. A rustling noise told her he'd found the chocolate chip cookies.

"Not much. Finished some of your paperwork."

He made a happy noise as he reappeared, carrying the water and swallowing a cookie. He settled onto the small couch, stretching his legs out in front of him. "You're an angel."

"You owe me," she told him before continuing. "Some surveillance. Hung around the tower. Nothing too exciting." She shrugged.

He asked the same question he always did after they'd been apart for more than a day or two: "Break any hearts?"

"Just the idiot's who did this to me. Can you believe he had the nerve to ask me out for coffee after he knocked me down?" She was outraged all over again, glaring at the mere memory of it. Clint laughed.

"Tasha, come on. That was a completely normal thing to do on so many levels. Maybe he was trying to show how sorry he was. Or maybe he just wanted to ask the beautiful woman out. Can you blame the guy?"

Flattery was lost on her; she could blame the guy and Clint knew it. "He was an idiot."

"So you've said. Anything else?"

"I took Banner out to lunch the day you left."

"Anywhere you've taken me? By the way, I'm craving a Cuban sandwich and fried plantains." He mentally started mapping the route to the nearest good Cuban restaurant.

She shook her head. Her tone was neutral as she said, "You don't like Russian."

Clint stilled. She only ate Russian when she was feeling depressed or unsettled—he never understood why that was the case, why when she was low she'd choose to remember a time and place that had hurt her so much. He'd have to ask Bruce about the lunch; he wondered if the scientist knew what it meant, what a burden he'd been entrusted with.

"How're you feeling?" At his serious tone Natasha closed the book and set it aside. Clint's eyes watched her carefully, scanning her face for any signs of distress. She tilted her chin up and met his gaze steadily, unflinchingly. They kept few secrets from each other, and each knew when the other was lying. Natasha still tried sometimes, though, just to keep in practice.

She wasn't trying now. "I wasn't happy when I got grounded. I want to do my job, and some jerk kept me from it. The weather was bad and they told me I needed a babysitter and I didn't like it." She thought for a moment and he still watched her, waiting patiently to hear whatever else she might choose to divulge. "I felt bad for dragging Banner into it. But he's a very good listener."

"And now?"

Natasha smiled a bit. "I'm better," she answered honestly, because "I'm fine" would never be completely honest for her ever again. "Ready to get back to work, no matter what medical says. And…"

At this second pause his gaze sharpened and his body tightened, prepared for any response her words necessitated. "And?" he prompted quietly, his voice rough.

Her smile blossomed; she looked like a perfect doll. "I'm glad you're back safe, _ptichka_."

Clint felt suddenly exhausted as relief flooded him. He'd long ago resigned himself to the fact that he was a terrible assassin who sympathized with his targets and sometimes even let them live. He ought to've learned his lesson: letting this one live had sentenced him to a life of worrying about a damaged, lovely girl old before her time. He only hoped what made him a terrible assassin made him a good partner to her and maybe, just _maybe_, even an okay human being.

"Speaking of which, I have your present." He went to his jacket and pulled something out of the pocket, then gave it to her before again retiring to the couch.

What he handed her was a small, oddly-shaped package wrapped in patterned paper. As she pulled off the blue paper she saw a figurine. It was a rooster of all things, glossy black, with a red comb and yellow beak; there was a heart painted on each side, and a pattern of dots and flowers on the arch of its tail.

She held it up with a quizzical expression. He grinned.

"It's some local legend about a dead rooster that crowed to prove a man who was about to be hanged was innocent. It's a symbol of honesty and integrity and Portugal in general. They have 'em all over the place: postcards, t-shirts, keychains, those weird cloth things that you're never sure if they're supposed to be some kind of wall hanging or a dish rag or what."

"Tea towels?"

"'F you say so."

She stroked the slight ridge of the rooster's tail and shook her head. "Have you ever considered that you have an unhealthy obsession with avian life?"

"It's been mentioned once or twice," he answered casually. "Banner's doing a study on whether or not I talk about birds more than normal people."

One corner of Natasha's mouth quirked up. "So you've been making sure to talk about them more than usual."

Clint spread his hands wide, a picture of innocence. "It only seems right." He nodded at the statuette. "Do you like it? Thought you'd prefer it to a t-shirt."

She laughed and turned the rooster over in her hands, admiring the bright decoration. "It's nice. You didn't need to bring me anything, though." Their eyes met, and Natasha felt again a wave of gratitude to the man who'd saved her, saved more than just her life, and would always save her, no matter the odds or consequences.

"Well, I thought getting a little cock might cheer you up."

She threw the book at him and pretended to be offended as he chortled; but she still let him curl up on the couch, where he slept soundly for the first time in days, knowing she was keeping watch.


	28. Results

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything you recognize.

Thanks to Arrows for reminding me to do this one.

If necessary, please refer back to the "Mead" chapter for a description of Bruce's tattoo and its meaning.

* * *

Luckily for Steve's drunken artwork, the Other Guy makes an appearance not two days after the mead-feast. It's not a big-deal, SHIELD-level thing; it's just a series of crappy little things that become one big crappy day that spirals out of Bruce's ability to deal with it.

Waking up later than he means to, and with a headache. Running out of tea. Making an error in some calculations. Having to face the onslaught of humanity on the city streets. Overhearing two men in suits laughing about sweatshop labor. Everything combines and culminates and all the deep breathing in the world can't keep the roiling mass of rage inside him from expanding, trying to claw its way out of him.

He manages to make it to the warehouse in time, although when the cab stops his skin is already rippling and significantly more verdant than usual. After literally throwing some money at the driver, he staggers into the building; there are sensors that will alert anyone back at the tower that he's there, and someone will show up soon to keep an eye on him. At the moment he's alone, and feeling the shirt rip across his back, he curses.

The single curse turns into a stream of them, which turns into a roar. It feels _good_ to roar, so he does it again. The windows shake but don't shatter—everything's been reinforced and strengthened in the warehouse, and it's filled with old machinery and masonry and assorted junk to destroy. Tony calls it the Other Guy's personal playground. Bruce's last coherent thought is that the Other Guy does seem to have a lot of fun here.

Hulk roars a third time, throwing his arms in the air. He jumps onto a nearby car with a satisfying crunch, then jumps up and down until the car is a flattened lump. He throws it like a Frisbee, laughing as it hits the far wall. This is a good place: no one tells him not to break anything.

Then Metal Man is flying around him. "Hulk!" he yells, in that annoying buzzing voice. "Hey, Big Green!"

"What?" Hulk glares up at the flying thing. "Stop smashing?" he asks, fairly sarcastically.

Metal Man laughs. "No, go to town, champ. I just came to see if your artwork held up." He points and Hulk looks down at his arm. There's something there, fuzzy and stretched, and it's not just dirt; it's too regular and even. It's some kind of symbol but he can't tell what it is or if it means something, and as Metal Man flies near Hulk realizes it may have been a trick so Metal Man can trap Hulk. He flinches back, growling, and Metal Man zooms away.

"Thanks, pal. Steve'll be happy to hear it's still there. I think we can safely rule out a real tattoo for you, though; the enlargement isn't so good for the original design. As you were. Resume smashing. I'll be over there if you need me." He points at a girder across the room and flies over to it, perching on top and flipping up his faceplate to wait.

Hulk doesn't need to be told twice. He grabs an old railroad tie and slams it across the roof of a van, grumbling about stupid puny humans. Then he smiles and kicks the van into the air.

* * *

Bruce blinks up at the ceiling. Something is jabbing into his back; he shifts, and as he moves, Tony steps into view.

"You know, the Other Guy really lacks a spirit of scientific inquiry," he says, standing far enough from Bruce that the prone man isn't embarrassed. Tony holds sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a pair of sneakers.

Bruce laughs rustily. "Otherwise you'd keep him around all the time?" He takes the pants first, pulling them on as best he can without completely flashing Tony—not that the other man would be all that bothered by it. Then the shoes, so he doesn't get tetanus from stepping on something old and pointy.

"Maybe not _all_ the time…" Tony holds out the shirt, and as Bruce extends his arm his eye catches the blurry mess below his shoulder. Like everything else around him save Tony, it's in bad shape. It looks like the design has been enlarged and then reduced several times on a very dirty copier.

"I wonder if it's all from the change of size, or if the dirt and moisture have affected it, too." He knows that it's not the smartest question, but he's not quite back to full brain power yet.

Tony doesn't seem to mind. "That's my boy. Welcome back." He slings a metal-encased arm around Bruce's waist to support the tired man, and they make their way out of the warehouse.

When he slumps into the back of the car, Bruce notices a plastic bag on the seat. "Oh, yeah," Tony says. "You were out of tea, so I got Happy to pick some up on the way."

It's not until he goes to make the tea the next morning that he sees the name of the tea is "Green Gold." Bruce sighs, grinning and knowing it's going to be a good day.


	29. Ladies' Night

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything that belongs to anyone else, including but not limited to Marvel, Disney, J.K. Rowling, DC, Jane Austen, and Emily Brontë.

Can't believe I've never said this before, but the opinions of these characters do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the author. **_Please_** do not give me grief about anything these people say about Harry Potter.

* * *

Hill regarded the piece of paper next to her keyboard with suspicion. She leaned over the desk to read it without picking it up.

_Dear Agent Hill,  
You are cordially invited to a night out with the classiest badasses in New York (ie Agent Romanoff, Ms. Potts, and Dr. Foster) and me next Saturday, barring any work-related incidents. RSVP to any of us, or, if you feel like annoying Agent Coulson, check yes or no and give this back to him to deliver.  
Looking forward to seeing you,  
Darcy Lewis_

That was…unexpected.

She didn't immediately recognize the name at the bottom of the note, nor the handwriting, so she ran a quick search. Ms. Lewis had been Jane Foster's research assistant during the New Mexico incident. The photo attached to the file was from her driver's license; Agent Hill got a pretty good idea of what kind of driver she was from the picture. She considered the invitation for a moment. She didn't have much of a social life outside of work, and for good reason; but if everyone in attendance was privy to at least the existence of alien life on Earth and—she checked a few more files—the secret identities of most, if not all, of the Avengers, then it would be easier to socialize with that common ground. She didn't notice Coulson behind her until he spoke.

"My advice is to accept, Agent Hill," he said.

Her head snapped up. "How's that?"

"Ms. Lewis can be most insistent." Coulson inclined his head to one side a fraction, clearly speaking from experience. His approval assuaged some of her misgivings—until she heard him say under his breath, "You're better off just agreeing to whatever she asks, while she's asking nicely." Then he was gone before she had the chance to ask what he meant.

Hill looked at the picture on her monitor with no small measure of incredulity. She didn't doubt the young woman in the picture could make a nuisance of herself. Hill considered a moment further; it wasn't often she was invited places, and if Romanoff was going to be there, it wouldn't be unbearable. She hoped.

Agent Romanoff gave her the details of time and place that afternoon.

On the night, she picked an emerald top and a pair of dark jeans, and enjoyed the feeling of not having her hair pinned up in that bun. At the same time she felt a little silly, dressed up like this, and a bit exposed, even though her present outfit fit less snugly than her uniform. What she wore to work offered more in the way of protection and opportunity for concealment, though. She checked the contents of her purse—lip gloss, comb, keys, money, phone, credentials, pistol—then snapped it shut.

* * *

_**Round One  
**_  
As she walked into the bar Darcy said, "Wow. Agent Hill is a secret hottie."

Natasha made the introductions, sticking to first names. They certainly were a striking group of women, Maria thought while looking around the table at them, even more than the average gathering of stylish female Manhattanites. To an observer they must have looked like an assembly of model stereotypes: tall, fair Pepper; cool, mysterious Natasha; petite, delicate Jane; full-lipped, exuberant Darcy. Despite their outward appearances, Maria had a good idea that anyone who tried to harass any of these women in any way would be in for a rather unpleasant surprise.

"Nice necklace," she told Darcy, whose cheeks pinked as she touched the star and thanked Maria.

"It reminds her of her boyfriend," Pepper teased, and Jane giggled.

"Hey!" Darcy pointed from Jane to Pepper and back. "You two have no room to talk."

Pepper's hand clasped the rose-gold bangle on her wrist. "It's a safety precaution," she protested. She turned to Maria, twisting the bracelet off, and explained, "There's a GPS tracker and a transmitter in it; if I'm in trouble I can send a distress signal by using my thumbprint." Maria peered at the inside of the bangle, where a darker spot indicated the print-reader. Stark's technology really was amazing.

"Mmhmm," Darcy replied, unimpressed.

"And if I recall correctly, he gave you something, too," Pepper pointed out.

"See, you left it so wide open that it would just be too easy to make a joke," Darcy lamented, rooting through her purse.

"Isn't that a shame." Pepper looked anything but sorry.

"It's definitely the best phone I've ever owned, though. And the customer service plan is unparalleled." Darcy clicked a few buttons on said phone and then stood and backed away from the table. "Everybody smile and say cheese."

It took a few tries to get a picture everyone approved of, but eventually Darcy sat down again. "There. Sent to all the boys, J, and Phil. And that's the last text." She slid the phone back into her purse.

Jane looked smug. "I'm not wearing anything my boyfriend gave me."

Darcy hissed, "_Tramp stamp_." Jane's expression turned to one of shock as a hand flew to the small of her back.

"Do you have a tattoo, Jane?" Pepper demanded.

"You brat," she huffed at Darcy. Then she turned away from the table and pulled her shirt up and pushed her skirt down to show them. The dark red tattoo looked like a particularly spiky snowflake or an asterisk gone wild. She spoke over her shoulder. "It's the least romantic-looking thing possible, I know. But it's supposedly a charm of protection to keep you safe in battle." She dropped her shirt and shrugged, slightly uncomfortable at the scrutiny.

"Coming from Thor, that's pretty damn romantic," Natasha said.

Jane thought about it for a moment and then said, "Yeah, I guess it is." A smile crept onto her face.

"What's your boyfriend's name, Darcy?" Maria asked.

Darcy gave her a weird look. "Steve," she answered slowly, cutting her eyes to Natasha, who shrugged.

"Are you in a relationship, Maria?" Pepper asked, ever tactful.

"No. The job doesn't make it easy."

"Welcome to the club," Pepper said, raising her drink. "Where the motto is 'I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.'"

"To secrets and lies," Natasha toasted, and they clinked their glasses together and drank deeply.

* * *

_**Round Two**_

"I hate drinking margaritas in public," Jane said agitatedly. In total defiance of her words, she took a sip of her drink.

"Then why did you order one?" Pepper wondered.

"Because I love margaritas. But if you go into a bar and order one it's like announcing to the world that because you're a woman, the only way you can handle your alcohol is in a neon drink with an umbrella in it." She snatched the umbrella out and crumpled it up before tossing it on the floor. "Margaritas aren't even supposed to have umbrellas in them."

"Preach!" Darcy cried.

"If they play any ABBA, I'm leaving," Maria declared, shaking her head.

"What's wrong with ABBA?" Natasha asked. She sounded slightly hurt.

"We're not in a chick flick. There will be no montage of us dancing or having a pillow fight or getting a makeover; therefore there is no need for ABBA."

"I like ABBA."

They all stared at her at this revelation. She shrugged. "Maybe it's a European thing."

"And we're not going to sit around complaining about men, either."

"Or our weight," Jane added. Darcy concurred with a curse.

"To defying stereotypes!"

* * *

_**Round Three**_

"So. Read any good books recently?" Darcy asked, looking around the table. The others all shook their heads. "This is a little sad. Do we really have nothing in common besides that one thing?" They looked at each other and shook their heads again. "Fine. Everybody go around and say one thing about yourself that we don't know."

"I'm allergic to strawberries," Pepper offered. Maria and Natasha exchanged looks, and Pepper sighed. "I should've realized you'd know that. Okay, I…first got drunk on cherry schnapps at my high school boyfriend's parents' New Years Eve party, and threw up in an aquarium. And if you already knew that about me, then I feel sorry for you."

Natasha said, "I know how to knit. But don't ask me to make you anything, because I'm not very good at it. I only do it when I get really bored on a job."

"And the needles have other uses as well, I'm sure," Pepper said. There was an 'of course' on Natasha's face at that.

Maria took a moment to consider. Natasha knew a bit about her from work, but nothing pertinent to this kind of interaction. She'd spent so long working for SHIELD that she automatically thought of the least intimate details she could reveal, like where she bought her top; even in this group she wouldn't talk about allergies or weaknesses or her upbringing or anything that could be used against her. The briefest thought told her how sad it was that her guardedness extended even to these people who so clearly meant her no harm. She could have lied (though Natasha might have been able to catch her), but she chose, deliberately, to tell the truth, even if it was a relatively inconsequential truth.

"My favorite movie of all time is 'Top Gun.'"

"That's on the list! Come to movie night and watch it with us."

"You have movie night? The Av—all of you?" Maria looked from Pepper, lovely inviting Pepper, who nodded, to Natasha, giving her an amused look.

"Team building and acclimation to modern culture," she said coolly.

"Tony's got the best home theater system outside of Skywalker Ranch, probably. It's better than going to the actual theater."

"I think we need to have brownies next time. Darce, if you give me your mom's recipe, I'll make them."

"Nuh-uh. You don't have the secret Lewis touch. I'll do 'em."

"Is the 'secret Lewis touch' alcohol?" Natasha guessed.

"Surprisingly, no, but that's a very good idea."

"You better like brownies, Maria, because I don't think we can be friends if you don't. Especially not Darcy's mom's brownies."

Pepper tutted at them. "Talking about recipes and the necessity of chocolate in female friendship? Party foul."

"Damn. Quick, Jane, say your thing and make sure it's really manly."

"I was planning to say that I took ballet when I was little. I wanted to be a ballerina until our field trip to the planetarium in third grade. Sorry. Science is manly, though, right?"

"Right. No women in science."

"Marie Curie who?"

"Ada Lovelace? Rosalind Franklin? Nope."

"Team Science is strictly male, thank you."

"I'm kind of scared about what Darcy's thing is. I already know too much about her, so it's got to be something weird."

"No," Pepper said, mildly reproachful, "be nice. It won't be weird."

Darcy agreed. "It's really not. I broke my leg snowboarding senior year of high school. I was trying to impress a guy, and it didn't really work. But," she said, shaking a finger, "I learned an important life lesson."

"Not to pursue men you have to be someone you're not to impress?"

"I was going to say that Vicodin is the best, but sure, that too." She grinned.

* * *

_**Round Four**_

"Screw, marry or kill: Batman, Superman, and Robin."

"Those are fictional characters."

"Yes, Captain Obvious, I'm glad you recognize that. It doesn't matter. Go."

"Is it even possible to kill Superman?"

"Kryptonite," Maria said confidently.

"Is Robin legal? I'd hate to have to kill him based on that alone. I guess marry Robin, kill Batman, and screw Superman?"

"I thought you'd marry Batman, since he's just like Tony."

Pepper looked aghast. "He's not like Tony at all!"

"He's like Tony without the sense of humor," Darcy clarified. There was a quiet moment as they all considered Tony Stark in those terms. Natasha tossed back the rest of her drink at the thought of such a thing.

"I've got one," Maria said. "Harry, Ron, Hermione."

"Ooh, excellent choice."

Darcy shuddered. "Ugh, can you imagine if someone killed Harry? Everybody would be freaking out because the savior of the wizarding world had been killed."

"I say kill Ron" was Natasha's answer.

Pepper frowned. "He's a Weasley, though! That poor family has been through enough already."

"Harry and Hermione are almost as much a part of the family as the rest of them. You can't take that into consideration."

"I love that none of us thought for a minute about killing Hermione," Darcy said gleefully. "Screw her, marry Ron, kill Harry."

Natasha's vote was to kill Ron, screw Harry, and marry Hermione, and Maria agreed. Pepper remained adamant about not killing another Weasley and sided with Darcy's assessment. Jane finally admitted that she had only seen the first two movies and so didn't know enough about any of the characters to decide, nor did she really care about them.

"So how about Mr. Darcy, Mr. Rochester, or Heathcliff?" Pepper offered.

Darcy booed. "Death to all of them."

"You have to decide."

"Kill Heathcliff. I guess screw Mr. Rochester and marry Mr. Darcy."

"Then your name would be Darcy Darcy," Natasha pointed out. Jane got the hiccups from laughing at that.

* * *

_**Round Five**_

"I'm sorry, you guys, but I love all your boyfriends," Darcy confessed. "_All _of them." She looked around the table at the other women, none of whom were shocked by the revelation.

"And they love you," Pepper said.

"I know. I'm sorry about that, too." She cocked her head and then corrected herself. "No, I'm not, actually. Not at all. But if it makes you feel better, I love all of you guys."

"Tell us something we don't know," Natasha said, patting Darcy on the back. In return she dropped her head onto Natasha's shoulder.

"I know that's crazy assassin talk for 'We love you, too.'"

* * *

_**Round Six**_

Maria waited to order another round at the bar, one hip leaned against it. She watched an attractive man with sandy blond hair and a dark suit approach a woman at the other end of the bar. The man had an easy grin as he asked a question; when the woman answered, he swirled his hands in the air and sparks appeared, and he held up his hand to display something written on his palm. The young woman squealed and clapped her hands, and the man stepped closer, looking pleased. Maria shook her head, glad that he hadn't tried that on her. Even from this distance the sparks had startled her and she'd reached for her hip, forgetting that she wasn't wearing her holster.

When the waiter brought over the drinks—a margarita, a Malibu and Coke, a dry martini, a Cosmopolitan, and a concoction of apple juice and some obscure Polish vodka—Jane said, "Hey! Can you take a picture of us? We need one with Darcy in it."

He took Darcy's phone and moved away as they arranged themselves. Darcy wrapped her arms around Natasha, pinning her arms to her sides. Pepper had one arm around Natasha's shoulders and the other around Jane's waist. Jane stood on her toes with her arms around Pepper's and Maria's shoulders.

As he lined up the shot, the waiter asked politely, "How do you all know each other?"

"We're sorority sisters," Natasha answered, mostly straight-faced. Pepper giggled.

When he returned the phone, Darcy didn't immediately put it back into her purse, but started tapping at it. "What are you doing, _lapushka_? I thought you said no more texting."

"I wanna send Uncle Phil a message."

"Is it an emergency?"

"No." She looked up at Natasha seriously. "But it's _important_."

Jane intervened. "Darcy, recite." Her former intern obediently began listing elements from the periodic table along with their atomic numbers.

"If she can go the first three rows, she's still competent enough for the phone. If she can't get them, she has to name all the presidents in order. No elements, no presidents, no phone."

Darcy made a few mistakes with the elements, but succeeded in listing all of the presidents, although, as Maria pointed out, the proof only worked if the person listening also knew the elements and the presidents. Darcy grinned knowingly.

Given permission, she typed her message with painstaking care. _Would u rather have both m&f parts or no parts AT ALL?_

A moment later the response came, and Darcy giggled. _Hermaphrodite. Don't drink too much_.

She texted back a row of hearts.

* * *

Maria looked around at the people in the bar. She didn't get out much—most of her time was spent with a grumpy man with only one eye, or doing endless reams of paperwork in triplicate—but she knew pretty well when someone was prevaricating, and the people around her were all presenting façades to the world. They were pretending to be more successful or more interesting or more desirable or more content with their lives than they really were.

Then she looked at the women, confident and happy, sitting with her, and knew she could not have handpicked a better group, because she wouldn't have known before tonight that these were the type of people she'd like to spend time with. She couldn't complain too much about the disadvantages of her career; she'd chosen it, and felt the importance of her work made up for any drawbacks. But she was grateful for the chance to be Maria instead of Agent Hill, even if only for one evening.

"To the real thing," she said to herself as they all drained their drinks.

Pepper went outside to call the car and Natasha went to take care of the bill. Maria very carefully checked all around their table to make sure no one had left anything as Jane helped Darcy up, slipping their arms around each other in a way that suggested this was not the first time they'd managed drunken escapades together. The three made their way slowly out of the bar.

"Are we going back to the tower?" Darcy asked, slumping heavily against Jane.

"Nope. We're going back to your apartment, remember? I'm going to spend the night."

"Am I gonna get lucky?" She leered at the other woman, who shook her head.

"No, but if we're both lucky you won't throw up on me again."

Darcy waved loosely. "That only happened once." They joined Pepper and after a moment Darcy asked, "Can I call Steve and tell him good night?"

"No, babe, he's probably asleep now."

"Even if he is, he doesn't mind being woken up in the middle of the night." She turned to the others and dared them suggestively, "Ask me how I know that."

"We get the picture," Maria assured her.

"He doesn't like sleeping anyway. He totally wouldn't care if I went over there right now."

"We're going to stick to the plan where I keep you company, okay?"

"It's a dumb plan. You just don't want me to get any because you're not getting any because Lightning McQueen is back home." Her fingers fluttered toward the sky above them.

"If I have to be involuntarily celibate, so should you."

"What kind of idiot doesn't like sleeping?" Maria demanded of the world at large, offended by the mere idea that someone who could sleep would choose not to.

Darcy squinted at her through the glare of a passing car's headlights. "The kind of idiot who slept for 70 years," she explained as if to a small child.

"Your boyfriend Steve is _that_ Steve? _Captain_...Steve?" She blamed her surprise on the alcohol.

"My one and only." Darcy raised the arm not wrapped around Jane's shoulders. "High five?"

Maria also blamed the fact that she actually had to think about it on the alcohol. It was weird to think about Captain America dating anyone, let alone sleeping with anyone; but maybe if she knew him as Steve rather than the Captain it would be different. And she liked Darcy. As Maria thought these things, Darcy said, "Don't tell me you wouldn't tap that if you had the chance."

Despite what some junior members of SHIELD believed, Maria was, in fact, human. "Well..." She shrugged and grinned sheepishly at Darcy, who took the idea of other people lusting after her boyfriend in stride.

"High five!" This time they did.

The town car pulled up and Jane pulled upon the door to get Darcy in. There wasn't really enough room for all of them, Maria noticed, even if the car did have a wide backseat. "We won't all fit. I'll get a cab."

"Don't be ridiculous," Pepper said, businesslike. "Jane can sit on Darcy's lap."

"I was gonna make her, anyway!" Darcy called from within.

"It's no problem…"

Natasha looked back from where she stood by the front passenger door. In a tone that brooked no argument she said, "Maria, we're not going to leave you here. Get in the car."

She sighed and ducked into the car, where Jane was already on Darcy's knees. Pepper got in next to her and closed the door, and Natasha in the front let the driver know they were ready. The radio was playing softly, and after a moment Natasha started to chuckle. She asked permission of the driver before twisting the volume up, and the strains of "Mamma Mia" filled the car. Everyone in the backseat groaned, and Natasha laughed triumphantly.

* * *

On Monday morning Agent Hill picked up the note Coulson had left on her desk.

_Hey Maria,  
"Top Gun" and brownies next Wednesday night. Be there or be square.  
Kisses,  
Darcy_

She smiled and made a note to find her aviators.


	30. Visiting

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing here, including any Marvel characters or anything from "Lord of the Rings" or "Game of Thrones."

Um, the Bifrost is fixed. Hurray!

The horses' names are Autumn Dusk, Peacock, and Piglet; I trust you to match them up correctly. I don't want to give away what the word that Sif uses to describe herself and Darcy means, but you can find it toward the end of the Viking Answer Lady's article on valkyries. It's an easy Google.

**YOU GUYS.** I never expected this thing to have 30 chapters and a combination of over 360 favorites and follows. That's insane. Thank you all so much! and special thanks to Mel.

* * *

He came swooping back into New York on the flash of a brief storm, just as he always did, but this time he had a question for her.

"Do you remember the vow I made to you upon our pinkies?"

"Sure," she answered automatically, but then looked up from her computer to where he stood, still lit with the afterglow of lightning. How his hair stayed so sleek and shiny around all that static electricity was a mystery. Her hair got mad staticky with only the slightest provocation. "Wait, do you mean when you promised to take me to Asgard?"

"The very same. Can you come within the fortnight?"

Darcy leapt up. "Yes! Really? It's okay if I come?" She looked so hopeful and eager, staring up at him, her hair pulled back and her glasses on, wearing a sweatshirt too big for her.

"Of course it is," he said. "Why would it not be? Everyone is looking forward to meeting you."

"Awesome!" Darcy launched herself at Thor, throwing her arms around him. With his arms around her waist he lifted her off the ground and spun a few times as she giggled.

"Thanks, big guy."

"It will be a wonderful visit. You will meet my mother and father, and dine on the finest delicacies, and hear tales of old." Thor looked almost as excited as she felt and he chattered on about what they'd do in Asgard.

* * *

Her insane excitement was soon tempered by doubt—the same doubt she'd felt meeting old boyfriends' parents: "What if they don't like me?"

"Of course they'll like you," Pepper soothed. "Thor does; there's no reason his parents wouldn't."

Steve shook his head solemnly. "She's a bad influence," he said. He couldn't dodge too much on the couch, but he tried to duck the pillow Darcy flung at him.

"The good news is, if they hate you, you don't even live on the same planet as them," Bruce offered.

Darcy grimaced. "Good news? They're _gods_. If they hate me, I'm screwed."

"It's not like they can keep you from hanging out with Thor."

"But if I do anything wrong I'll get blasted out of the sky."

Pepper was making the most effort to be reassuring. "Thor will protect you."

"Yeah, but against his _dad_? I know Thor loves me, but if it comes down to protecting me or obeying his father, I'm not sure which one he'd pick."

"You know he wouldn't let anything bad happen to you. He'll make sure you're safe."

"He better," Steve muttered darkly. Her heart flipped like it always did when Steve did something protective—not that she often needed or allowed it, but it made her feel good all the same. Still, she had plenty to worry about.

"Should I take a gift? Aren't you supposed to take something when you visit people? But what kind of gift could I possibly give a couple of gods?" Darcy flung herself melodramatically into a chair. There was only one solution to her problem. "I need to go to the library. I have so much research to do."

* * *

There were 752 items about mythology in the library; only 27 of those had anything to do with Thor's family. None of them could answer her question or any of the others that her reading had raised. Maybe there was another solution; Darcy started to jot questions on a piece of paper.

* * *

"Can I take my taser?"

Thor frowned, eyebrows drawing together. "Do you think you will have need of your taser?"

"I don't know, you tell me."

"Darcy, it is unlike you to be so worried. We need not go if you do not wish to."

"No! I definitely want to go. I just don't want to do anything wrong."

Thor smiled encouragingly. "Be the Darcy that all know and love, and they will love you as well."

Totally sweet, but not the most helpful answer. She glanced down at her list, pen poised to take down his reply. "Are there forbidden topics? Anything I shouldn't ask about? Besides your whole brother situation, duh."

He thought for a moment. "Do not ask Father about his eye. Nor about his horse." Thor rubbed the back of his neck and admitted, "It may be best not to ask the All-father much at all."

Which, while probably good advice, did not bode well. "Oy," she sighed, slumping in her seat. "Promise that you'll bring my body back, if there's anything left of it."

* * *

Whenever she asked, Jane only looked dreamy and called it "indescribable." Again, so unhelpful. Darcy wanted to know completely describable things, like was the trip cold, and should she take her sunglasses. Thor had already nixed anything electronic, citing cosmic electromagnetic rays that would ruin her gadgets. She wasn't sure she believed him; but she could live without her cell phone for the weekend.

The more pressing question was what did you even wear for a trip on an Einstein-Rosen Bridge? Should she wear, like, sweatpants, and then change when she got there? In the end Darcy went for layers: a skirt over leggings, a plaid shirt that Clint decried as Steve's abysmal fashion sense infecting the rest of the world like a plague, a cardigan, sensible boots.

She shoved a few necessities in her pack, including underwear. Thor had said that if necessary she could borrow some Asgardian garb; Jane had come back with a gorgeous, flowing, impractical gown that made her look like an actual noblewoman. Darcy wouldn't mind snagging some extraterrestrial hand-me-downs to out-hipster the kids at the coffee shop, but she would be damned if she went anywhere without a proper bra in reserve.

* * *

Finally and all too soon it was the appointed day. They stood on a balcony high in the tower and Thor wrapped his arm around Darcy's waist, pulling her against his chest. As he raised Mjolnir she pushed against him. "No, no, no. Wait."

"Have you forgotten something?" He'd watched her repack her bag twice already, making sure she had everything. She could not have possibly left anything important behind.

"No, but I don't want to stare at your chest the whole way. I mean, it's impressive, don't get me wrong, but I've kind of seen it before, and I haven't seen…whatever it is that's about to happen. Can't I turn around?"

Thor frowned slightly. "It will be safer if you hold on to me as well as I to you."

"But I want to see," she repeated stubbornly. "I trust you not to drop me."

"Much I appreciate your faith, but I do not know what would come of you if you were to fall." He smiled wryly down at her. "And I know too well what would come of me if I were to let you fall."

Darcy thought for a moment. Normally she wouldn't mind cuddling up to Thor's warm bulk, but she didn't want to miss anything, even if the trip was short and dark. There was only one other way she could think of. "I have an idea, but I'm not sure you're going to like it."

And so Darcy Lewis became the first woman to ride piggyback into Asgard.

* * *

They landed in a swirl of brilliant light and color that forced her to close her eyes; she slid from Thor's back but kept one hand on his shoulder until she could see again. They were on the bridge, the literal rainbow bridge, that frigging Einstein-Rosen bridge that had started everything. She'd never felt so grateful to a bridge before, even if it did look much more digital than she'd imagined it would. The gatekeeper loomed before them; Darcy's hands automatically went to smooth her hair down after their flight, but it was no messier than it had been when they'd left. If that wasn't a sure sign of magic being afoot, she didn't know what was.

The figure of the gatekeeper was striking, the gold of his outfit glowing against his dark skin, making it easier to excuse the Asgardian predilection for dumb helmets. His sword was _huge_, and Darcy was so awed that she could hardly work out a fitting innuendo. But his eyes were leonine and amber and gorgeous. She felt very small and pitiful under his stare.

When he spoke his voice was a rumbling bass. "Welcome home, Thor Odinson. And welcome, Darcy Lewis."

Thor smiled. "Darcy, this is Heimdall, the gatekeeper."

"Yeah, I figured." She looked from one man—god—to the other. "Do you shake hands here, or what?"

Thor laughed and Heimdall cracked a smile. He held out one large hand and grasped hers above the wrist. Even with fingers splayed she couldn't encircle his wrist.

"The All-father awaits you in his hall. Hasten to him first."

"Of course." Thor stepped close and asked in a low voice, "Heimdall...all is well?"

The other nodded. "All is well in Asgard." He cocked his head, as if listening, and added, "And in Midgard."

Thor grinned in relief then and clasped Heimdall's shoulder briefly. "Come, little sister," he said, taking her hand.

It _was_ pretty damn indescribable. Darcy saw stars glittering overhead, even during the day, and knew that Jane would have freaked out; she probably would have demanded to sleep outside just so she could stare into this unfathomable new sky. The towers of the city before them rose shining like a real-life Emerald City, without the green tint.

Thor watched Darcy's face as she stared at the city around her. He set a moderate pace, not rushing, aware of Darcy's shorter legs and how she must be feeling. He remembered feeling utterly lost and confused when he'd first arrived on Midgard, not knowing where he was or what he might find there. His friend's eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted, but she did not seem anxious.

It was hard not to feel at least a bit overwhelmed; everything was so different from home. There were bridges across wide chasms where waterfalls tumbled down seemingly endless depths. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed truly gigantic statues, of what she had no idea. There were strange shapes, and what looked like a floating building off in the distance. It was so alien—her lips twitched at the thought, since technically she was now the alien—that she had to just let the sights wash over her without processing them.

"Are you well?" Thor asked next to her, voice comfortingly familiar.

She nodded. "Yeah, fine. It's just a lot to take in. Everything's a lot…_shinier_ than back home, y'know?" Shiny wasn't at all the word she meant; he seemed to realize it and nodded, wrapping his arm around her shoulder briefly. Darcy smiled up at him as he released her, thankful that he knew her well enough to realize that while she appreciated his moral support, she wanted to walk into Asgard like an independent woman.

* * *

They stopped outside the palace, where Darcy futzed with her outfit, smoothing out her skirt and brushing her hair back. That done she straightened up, throwing her shoulders back in a posture that would make her mother proud. She nodded decisively and the doors opened.

None of her classes or her life experiences, though varied, had prepared Darcy for the moment she walked into the throne room and knelt at the base of Odin's seat. In the split second between Thor taking a knee beside her and her own legs bending, the rebellious part of her brain shouted that she was an American and there'd been a war in 1776 that meant she never had to kneel to any monarch, to say nothing of any religious connotations the situation held. For once she ignored her reckless instincts and dropped down. Forget causing an international incident; pissing off Odin would not be good for Thor's position on the Avengers, or her odds of getting home to Earth ever again. And she just wanted Thor's parents to like her.

His voice rang confident and clear beside her. "My father, may I present a maiden" (she heard Clint's cackling in her head and tried to ignore it) "bold and kind, who in my time of weakness both bested me and offered her friendship. She is clever and witty, a pleasant companion at table and a learned scholar. I am pleased and fortunate to call her my closest of friends and my heart's sister: Darcy Lewis of Midgard."

Darcy's eyes welled up with uncharacteristic tears, and she glanced at Thor. He smiled when he noticed her looking.

"Rise, Darcy Lewis," Odin's voice echoed around the chamber. "You are welcome in my hall."

Whew.

She stood as a woman joined the All-father and they descended from the dais together. Darcy was glad that Thor's dad wasn't wearing a helmet, as it kept her from having to stifle inappropriate laughter. Thor's mom was wearing a loose, faintly sparkling dress and a warm smile. Her hair was a bit darker than Thor's, and when they were close enough Darcy saw that Thor had his father's eyes. Except for the obvious difference in number.

"Welcome, Darcy," Frigga said, taking the younger woman's hands. She curtseyed awkwardly.

"Thank you, um…"

"You may call me Frigga." She led Darcy away from the men so subtly that the girl didn't even notice until they were sitting on a low couch. "Tell me about yourself."

Darcy's brain went on autopilot and she started spewing information about her parents and her childhood and how the furthest from home she'd ever been was Norway and now she was on a whole different world. She trailed off, embarrassed, unsure what to say or do, until she remembered the gift.

Unhitching her pack from over her shoulder, Darcy said, "I don't know if you can see Thor when he's on Earth, what he's doing and who he's with. I know Heimdall watches all the worlds, but…" She pulled out the album and took a deep breath, trying to rally her confidence. Then she continued, looking up to meet Frigga's eyes. "This is what we do on Midgard. We show our families and friends embarrassing pictures of each other, so others can understand what our lives are like even when they're not with us."

She opened the photo album, sliding it toward Frigga's lap so she could see better. "This is the first picture I ever took of Thor, from the first—well, second, really, I guess—time we met. He's so good-natured; he didn't care that he had chipmunk cheeks, he just smiled when I told him to."

Darcy flipped through the album, pointing out their friends, describing them as best she could. She tried to focus on who they were more than what they did—even though Thor was a born warrior, Darcy didn't think Frigga would be overly eager to hear about the battles he fought and the weapons his friends used, and it seemed to Darcy that there was no good way to explain that your friends were assassins. Besides, Thor had probably already told his mother about them, anyway. There were photos of their trip to Playland, Steve's birthday party, everyday life. When Darcy paused at a picture of Steve, Frigga looked at her with a faint smile.

"I know that look," she said. "It is the same Thor wears when he speaks or thinks about Jane."

"Yeah," Darcy sighed. "I guess it's a pretty universal look when you see someone you're crazy about."

Frigga hummed agreement. Peering at the photo of Steve, she remarked, "He is very handsome."

"He is the most handsome. I mean, Thor is way handsome too, but he's like my brother. Sometimes I just can't believe that someone like Steve is with me."

"If you are half the woman Thor believes you to be, then any man would consider himself blessed to be with you." That made Darcy feel both flattered and like she needed to be a little better to live up to Thor's idea of her.

The last picture was a group shot; Frigga smoothed the page, gazing at the laughing expressions there before closing the album. "Thank you for bringing the pictures. I am pleased to see Thor so happy with you all."

"Thank you for sharing him with us. And the album is for you to keep, to show, um, the All-father and anybody else you want."

"It is most kind of you," the queen said graciously, pulling the book completely into her lap. "Odin will enjoy seeing the pictures as well."

Darcy couldn't imagine Odin actively enjoying much of anything, to tell the truth, but she didn't mention it. Instead she asked an important question of Thor's mom. "So do you have any pictures of Thor when he was a baby?"

Frigga's eyes sparkled. "What kind of mother do you think I am?"

* * *

A lot of things made sense once she'd seen Asgard. Like how Thor was never impressed by Tony's place or its luxury, for instance. Thor's room in the palace was enormous, easily the size of one of the floors at the tower. There was a circular hearth in the middle, and off in the distance Darcy heard the tinkling of water. Near the hearth was a bed big enough for the whole gang, Hulk and all, to sleep in. It was mounded with pillows, and Darcy obeyed the urge to dive onto it. It was as amazing as she'd imagine; there was the perfect balance between firmness and fluff. She grabbed a pillow and cuddled it to her.

"How do you ever leave this bed?"

"With great reluctance," he admitted, sitting at the edge.

She rolled onto her side, facing him. "Is it made out of magic?"

Thor chuckled. "We use magic for more important things than our beds."

"I don't believe there is such a thing as 'more important than beds.'" Darcy sat up and of course _now_ her hair got staticky. Oh, well, at least she'd gotten through meeting the parents with good hair. "So what's next?"

* * *

"Thor!" a booming voice rang across the hall. The boom didn't really narrow down who it was; pretty much everybody here could be really theatrical, but if it wasn't Volstagg, Darcy would eat her hat. Thor grinned when he saw the three figures approaching. "You're here! And your young maiden!"

"_One_ of your young maidens," a more sedate and sly voice that had to be Fandral added. When the trio caught up to them, there were lots of bear-hugs and back-slaps. Darcy had seen a video of Thor roughhousing with Hulk; this greeting looked a lot like that.

Fandral swept the others aside and took Darcy's hand, bowing over it. The dandy warrior looked somehow different than she remembered, though she couldn't quite put her finger on how.

"Lady Darcy, it is an honor and a pleasure to have you in Asgard." He looked up at her as he kissed her hand. It was a very smooth move, and surprisingly sincere. Darcy knew that he probably pulled it all the time, but that didn't stop her from being at least a little bit charmed.

"Lady Darcy," Hogun said quietly with a slight bow.

Volstagg landed a meaty hand on her shoulder. "You are most welcome!"

"Thanks. It's good to see you guys again." Especially when the danger of death was slim.

"Lady Darcy, we would extend to you the fairest invitation to ride with us on a tour of Asgard. With the exception of our esteemed prince, you will have no nobler guides than the Warriors Three." Fandral was very Errol Flynn-gallant. She kind of loved it.

There was someone missing from this equation, though. "Where's Sif?"

"She wished to join us, but…"

"She has duties she must attend to."

"Likely she must tidy her room before you stay there," Thor chuckled.

Apparently thinking that the idea being alone with three strange men was making Darcy hesitate, Volstagg said, "You will be as safe with us as you would be with Thor."

"Safer, probably," Thor agreed amiably. "Do as you will, Darcy. You have nothing to fear in Asgard."

Darcy hadn't done a lot of horse riding, but she wasn't one to pass up a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. "Sounds good." The warriors looked pleased; Volstagg produced a sack that seemed to be full of snacks for the outing. Thor waved as the others led her away.

* * *

She felt like she should warn them, though. "I'm not really a horse person," she said, trailing behind the three as they strode toward the stables. Darcy was more than a little leery of what Asgardian horses would be like, even ones with the normal complement of legs.

"Never fear, lady. Our horses are obedient and loyal," Fandral assured her.

"To you, sure, but how do they feel about mere Midgardians?" she muttered to herself.

The stables were nearly as big as Odin's hall, it seemed, and smelled pleasantly of hay and horse, with only the faintest odor of manure. Their horses were already saddled and waiting. Darcy was mildly disappointed to see that they looked like normal Earth horses, although one of them was huge, like an old English farm horse. It made sense that Volstagg would have a big horse; he patted the animal's neck solidly as he said, "This is Gríss." The horse pushed its nose into the side of Volstagg's head and he pushed it back. "Of course I have something for you, you terrible creature." He produced a carrot from his sack and Gríss ate it loudly with what were frankly pretty scary teeth for a herbivore.

Darcy could vaguely remember reading Marguerite Henry books in fourth grade; she hoped it would give her some secret horse-whisperer knowledge, but so far it wasn't helping much. Hogun's horse, smaller than Volstagg's, was glossy dark brown and slightly skittish of the new person in its home. He introduced it as Haustmyrkr, rubbing its shoulder soothingly. Fandral's horse, Pái, stood with its neck arched proudly, pawing lightly at the ground like it wanted attention.

"And your mount," Volstagg said, taking Darcy's hand and pulling her forward gently, "is Sælingr. You might translate it as Lucky." The horse was dark gray, the color of Thor's armor. Darcy figured if it worked for dogs it might work for horses, so she let Sælingr sniff her hand. The horse whuffled against her fist, which seemed like a good sign.

"Hey, Lucky, I'm Darcy. I'm not from around here, so take it easy on me, okay?"

Sælingr wasn't an exceptionally huge horse, but from the ground he looked like a small mountain. Hogun and Fandral had already mounted, swinging themselves up gracefully. Yeah, right. Darcy didn't doubt that she could haul herself up eventually, but it wouldn't be graceful. Volstagg solved the problem by hefting her easily into the saddle.

They walked slowly around the yard to give Darcy and Sælingr a chance to adjust to each other. Fandral was right—the horse was very obedient. Mostly it just stayed near the others, following where they went. It gave Darcy the opportunity to look around as they ambled.

In the near distance she noticed a group of women leaving the palace. They looked like an Olympic volleyball team, all tall with long legs and strong arms. Even from a distance Darcy could tell that they were fierce, no-nonsense women. They reminded her of some of the women she knew back home.

"Who are they?" she asked, staring, even though she already had an idea.

"Valkyries. The choosers of the slain."

"They bring heroes to Valhalla," Volstagg said.

"Can I meet them?"

"They are not renowned for their outgoing nature. At least not among the living." Yep, just like some of the women she knew.

"Can I be like that when I grow up?"

"Little lady, your smiles and quick wit would be wasted among the _Valkyrjur_."

Darcy shot one of those smiles at Volstagg before turning her attention back to the women. "I don't think I'm tall enough, anyway."

"You might apply to Odin nonetheless," Fandral suggested. "They are in his service. One of their duties is to wait upon the heroes in Valhalla."

She nodded, remembering. "The goat mead, right. I was a waitress for a while, and I've had some experience dealing with drunk heroes, and even undead drunk ones. I think I'm good there. What else?"

"Can you handle a spear?"

The blond warrior was like the Clint of Asgard: he flirted like it was his job and didn't seem to mind when it got him nowhere. She didn't mind, either, since she was more comfortable trading inappropriate remarks with handsome men than making polite conversation with royalty. Darcy looked Fandral in the eye, barely flicking one eyebrow up, and answered, "I've often been complimented on my spear-handling skills."

He grinned foxily in return. "I am most pleased to hear it."

Hogun pointed out what they all already knew, as if it made a difference. "The most important criterion is that the Valkyries are all of them virgins."

Darcy sighed a little. "I'm definitely disqualified, then."

Volstagg, ears red, cut in before Fandral could reply. "Are you ready to head out, Darcy?" He sounded almost worried, like a concerned chaperone, and she bit down a chuckle.

"I think so. Just not so fast for now, please."

As they left the stable yard she looked again at the Valkyries. Since she didn't have her phone to take a picture, she'd just have to remember everything so she could talk about them with Phil. She'd start by calling him a bastard who'd been holding out on them all.

* * *

Darcy didn't know if she'd ever get a good idea of the topography of Asgard. Was it a globe? Was it a disc? The ride did nothing to answer those questions and the others, about planets and multiverses, that swirled through her head. They moved away from the palace through markets and squares out to what seemed to be residential areas and then orchards and fields. There, where the gold of the city gave way to the green of agriculture, the men urged their horses faster, and Lucky kept pace. Soon they ran into a mossy forest and Darcy leaned close to the horse's neck as branches whipped past overhead.

They emerged into a wide glade of soft grass. Darcy managed to throw her leg over Sælingr's back and bumped down from the saddle into Hogun's arms, held up to catch her. Volstagg was already spreading a blanket and pulling out bread, cheese, fruit, even little pies and flasks of drinks. They all ate, and then the warriors told stories, Fandral leaping to his feet to reenact a swordfight; Volstagg juggled apples; Hogun recited what seemed to be a famous poem, as the other two mouthed the words along with him. Darcy thoroughly enjoyed herself and tried not to eat too much delicious food before the ride back.

* * *

She slid off Lucky's back in front of the palace, Hogun holding the reins as she dismounted. "We will take him back to the stables," he said.

"Thank you. Thank all of you guys; that was fun." She stretched, muffling a groan, and added, "I may not be able to walk tomorrow, but it was worth it."

Fandral smirked down at her. "Those are words I have heard a time or two before." Darcy rolled her eyes and turned away to see Thor heading toward her.

"I'm glad you're here," she said, yawning. "I wouldn't've been able to find you otherwise. You should think about issuing maps to your visitors."

Thor ignored the suggestion. Instead he slung his arm loosely around her shoulders and the two headed into the building. "Did you enjoy your ride?"

"Yeah, it was great. They're really nice. We went outside the city into this forest that was just like Lothlorien. I kept expecting to see elves in the trees."

"There are few elves here; most live in Alfheim. What horse did they give you?"

"Lucky. Um, Sælingr. He's sweet. Good choice for a novice rider." She yawned again as they meandered down a long hallway. "Is there time for me to take a nap before dinner? I'm exhausted. I think I got too much fresh air." Her hair had to be a mess, too, even though she'd put it in a ponytail.

"Jane was as well. It seems to be a side effect of traveling between worlds for Midgardians." They turned and walked on until Thor pushed open the door to his room.

"Look at you, all making a hypothesis. The boys would be so proud."

"As well they should be. What would Team Science be without me?"

Darcy laughed sleepily as they crossed the room. She shucked her boots and climbed onto the bed, curling up near the edge. Thor pulled a blanket over her and then she was asleep, though she still felt like she was in motion, flying or riding through stars and trees.

* * *

Dinner was exactly like she imagined, like a scene out of a movie about the Dark Ages. There was a long table, surrounded by people and full of everything from fruit salad to loaves of fresh bread to large sections of some kind of roasted animals, with actual flagons of wine and ale. She sat next to Odin—obviously not her first choice, but the Asgardians took hospitality very seriously, and as the honored guest of the king's firstborn son, Darcy was worthy of high regard. It was kind of like trying to have dinner with your college dean, she thought, someone you'd heard of but had never had occasion to spend much time with before.

"Thor said you defeated him in combat," the All-father said gravely.

She broke open a steaming, crusty roll the size of her fist. "Technically, I guess, but it wasn't really fair," Darcy admitted. "He'd just gotten to Earth and was pretty incoherent, and I used a weapon on him when he was unarmed and not expecting it." A mild wave of panic flowed through her as she realized how unsporting it really was.

Fortunately, he didn't seem that bothered. "This weapon, the...taser. It is some kind of lightning?"

Darcy ducked her head to hide a smile. Like father, like son, she thought. "More or less. The taser stores an electrical charge, and when you pull the trigger it shoots two little darts connected to wires. The electricity travels down the wires, and into the person. It knocks them out, but it's nonlethal."

He nodded and they ate in silence for a while. Darcy listened to the chatter and noise of eating around her as she chewed on a hunk of meat. She couldn't name the animal it'd come from, but it was tasty. The silence from the king went on for so long that Darcy thought he was done talking altogether; but then, in a low voice, Odin asked, "How does Thor on Midgard?"

Darcy paused a moment before answering. She didn't have to think about it at all, but she wanted Odin to know that she wasn't just telling him what he wanted to hear. "He gets along very well. Obviously he had problems when he first arrived, but that was to be expected. There are still some things that he sometimes has difficulty understanding, but he just takes it all in stride and learns. And we all help him out, if he needs it."

"He looks upon you as a sister." Darcy could feel Odin's gaze on her, and not just from the eye that was still there. It felt like the one that wasn't there was looking inside of her, into her heart. She looked into Odin's face, at the serious expression set into the scars and wrinkles.

"I'm my parents' only child. Sometimes when I was little I wished I had a sibling, and imagined all the things we'd do together. Thor is better than all of those daydreams. I could not love him more if he were my brother born and bred."

The wrinkles arranged themselves into a smile. It was sad and tired, but it was still a smile.

* * *

After dinner was finished, Odin and Frigga retired. Thor and his friends migrated to some couches, where they hung out, shooting the breeze, eating desserts, and drinking mead. Darcy let herself sip at a small goblet of the alcohol for a while; when she could feel its effects she handed it to Thor, who drained the cup without comment.

When it was fully dark Thor said good night to the others and led Darcy away, up through the palace, higher and higher. Grand marble staircases gave way to more modest ones, which then led to a stone spiral stairway; finally they climbed up a set of stairs so steep they were more like a glorified ladder. Darcy grumbled a bit at first, then decided she'd be better off saving her breath for the climb. After what seemed like miles of ascending Thor pushed open a door and disappeared. She followed him out onto a platform where the view took the rest of her breath away.

They were at the highest point in the city, with nothing to obstruct the view. The city spread out before them, shining with torchlight and muted reflections of the sky above. Even out in the desert the sky had never been this clear; there was certainly no pollution here. It left the night bright with constellations and nebulae she'd never seen. For the first time in a long time she had nothing to say.

Thor murmured her name; she looked down to see him already lying on the roof. He stretched one arm out and she lay down next to him, resting her head on his bicep. They lay in silence next to each other as they watched the brilliant sky, the subtly sparkling glow of Yggdrasil's leaves.

* * *

The bed Darcy woke up in wasn't as bone-meltingly comfortable as Thor's, but it was close. Before opening her eyes she searched for the last thing she could remember, and it was neon clouds bright with points of light that were stars and suns and planets that not even Jane could name. She smiled against the pillow.

This room was much smaller than Thor's, and definitely feminine. That much she could tell before opening her eyes. Right on cue Sif appeared, brushing her hair. "Good morning," Darcy yawned.

"And to you. Did you sleep well?"

Darcy sat up and stretched. "Like a rock. Thanks for letting me stay in here. I hope it didn't wake you up or anything when Thor brought me in."

The warrior shook her head. She was already dressed, so Darcy decided she should probably get her act together. Her bag was nowhere to be found, which meant it was still with Thor.

"Can you take me to Thor's room? I need to get some different clothes from my bag."

Sif looked almost bashful. "Thor said perhaps you would like to wear something Asgardian. As the Lady Jane did." She opened a wardrobe and stood by it awaiting Darcy's decision.

"I would love to rock some Asgardian fashions, as long as they're practical. But I don't think any of your things are gonna fit me. You're like six inches taller than me, and I've got these to contend with," she said, pointing at her chest.

Sif smiled. "You underestimate Thor's ability to plan ahead." She pulled some things from the wardrobe and held them out. "He told us how you provided suitable clothing for him on Midgard, and he wished to do the same for you."

"Of course he did," Darcy said, shaking her head and taking the pile.

She changed in the more-or-less-bathroom, doing her best with the unfamiliar clothing. The pair of breeches and hip-length tunic with close-fitting sleeves were easy enough, but she'd been a bit stumped by the leather vest. It was already laced up what she figured was the front, and she'd started unlacing it before realizing that she only had to loosen the ties before she pulled it over her head.

When she emerged with laces askew Sif's fingers plucked up the loose ties, rethreading them quickly and pulling them snug. She double-knotted the bow securely over Darcy's chest. "There. How does it feel?"

"Surprisingly comfy," Darcy answered, looking down at herself. The buckskin-colored pants were a little tighter than she would've picked, but not constrictive, and the tunic helped cover her butt. "I look kind of like a pirate, but in a good way. And my girls feel supported but not squished." She patted the girls fondly.

Sif blushed lightly, a reaction Darcy was all too familiar with causing. She watched as the other girl took a pair of boots from the wardrobe. "Do you not have a lot of female friends, or are they just not as outspoken as me?"

"I fear I spend most of my time in the company of men." She handed over the boots. "It is not necessarily by choice. Not everyone in Asgard believes that women should fight alongside men."

Dropping onto the bed to pull on the boots, Darcy assured her, "Just wait 'til you come visit. I'll introduce you to the coolest women around, all of whom can also kick serious ass. Until then, you've got to tell me: Have you ever slept with Fandral? 'cause if I didn't have a man back home, I'd be all up on that."

Sif blushed again, but this time she laughed, too.

* * *

When they emerged from Sif's room Darcy's hair was braided elaborately and she'd heard a few choice stories about Thor's shenanigans in his younger days. He met them in the hallway and wished them a good morning, ignoring their knowing smirks.

"I have an idea," Darcy told him as they walked. "Where's the rest of your posse?"

"Breaking their fast, I'm sure. Will you tell me your idea now, or must I wait?"

"Normally I'd make you wait, but I should probably run it past you first." She stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, ending with "Would that be okay?"

He nodded his approval. "I believe they will be amenable."

"Cool."

While the others ate breakfast, Darcy stood before them and made her request.

"You want us to teach you how to fight?" Volstagg sounded uncertain, but Sif looked like the cat who'd caught the canary.

Darcy nodded. "I already know the basics of fistfighting, so I want you to teach me what you do best. Like swordfighting and throwing axes and stuff. But not archery," she added. "Clint would never, ever forgive me if anyone else taught me archery."

"Why do you ask this?" Hogun wondered. Sif rolled her eyes and Darcy suppressed a grin.

"I like learning new things, and I like learning from the best," she said, knowing that would win at least one of them over, maybe more. "And these are practical skills, and I'll be the only Midgardian who can say she learned to fight in Asgard. Anyway, Sif fights with you, so there's no reason I shouldn't be able to." Darcy thought for a second and then added, "That being said, you'll have to take it easy on me. I'm more breakable than any of you and I don't want to end up in the Asgardian equivalent of the ER."

"Do you know anything about using a sword?" Fandral asked. It came off as pretty condescending, but she was still trying to convince them, so Darcy let it go. She'd get him back later.

"Sure. Stick 'em with the pointy end." Thor snorted into his cup and murmured something that sounded suspiciously like "_Valar morghulis_."

Sif stood, expression fiercely proud and resolute. "I will teach you, even if they will not help. All worlds should have _skjaldmeyjar_."

Volstagg glanced at Thor, seeming to ask for permission. Thor finished chewing and said mildly, "Darcy is an adult and well able to decide for herself what she can and cannot do, what she does and does not want." Darcy grinned at him, full of warm fuzzies, until he went on, "She knows that she alone must face the consequences of her actions."

"Thanks for the backup, dude," she muttered, rolling her eyes. Then she turned to the other men. "Are you boys gonna help? I'm only asking to be polite and include you, because I'm pretty sure Sif has got the situation under control." Darcy stuck her hands on her hips and waited, eyebrow raised and a smirk on her lips. She meant it—she was perfectly content to have Sif teach her—but it'd be more fun if the others got involved, and she knew that now they would, having been issued a challenge. As she predicted they nodded, and Darcy and Sif exchanged satisfied smiles.

* * *

Okay, so in spite of the adulthood that Thor credited her with, she did giggle the first time they said "thrust." But after that it was serious business. It was so much easier learning something when you weren't infatuated with your teacher; and even Fandral focused, only touching her when it was actually necessary.

Out in the warm sunshine of an unknown season she learned to thrust and parry and dodge, and to throw knives big and small, and to flip an attacker, which she couldn't _wait_ to try on Steve. None of her instructors minded being hit with errant feet or knife hilts, and they all laughed at her mistakes together. When Darcy took a break the others showed off, fighting each other in extravagant style, leaping through the air and talking trash, blades flashing and hands flying. They were all grace and speed and easy ferocity in a way that she envied. Darcy sat next to Thor and they watched, catcalling and cheering, until Volstagg grabbed Thor and they began to grapple. It was like watching two jolly bears wrestling. Finally Darcy leapt into the fray and flipped Thor onto his back; she planted a foot on his chest and raised her fists in triumph as the others cheered.

* * *

And then, all at once, it was time to go. The party rode out over the Bifrost to where Heimdall waited; Odin was on Sleipnir, his prancing eight-legged horse, which was seriously the raddest animal Darcy had ever seen. Even so, she was not-so-secretly glad to have a chance to ride Lucky again before she left. Before she dismounted she leaned on his neck and whispered a promise to come back and see him again, and he whickered in response.

Still in her Asgardian outfit, she bowed—it would've been weird to curtsey in pants—in front of Odin and Frigga. "I thank you for letting me visit."

Odin nodded, smiling gravely. "It was lovely to meet you, Darcy," Frigga said. "You are welcome here whenever you wish."

"If you want to come visit, we'd be glad to have you."

"Our place is here now. The people of Midgard need only one god among them these days." Odin dropped a heavy hand on her shoulder and pronounced, "Safe travels on your homeward way, and until we meet again." Then the parents embraced their son.

Darcy turned to the others. "How about you clowns? You want to come visit sometime, meet the gang?"

Their response was matching grins. "Nothing would give us more joy," Sif answered. The two women hugged; Volstagg wrapped his arms around her gingerly, Hogun clasped her shoulder as they shook hands, and when Fandral bent to kiss her hand she put him in a headlock and ruffled his hair. Then, in apology, she kissed him on the cheek. He still looked disgruntled at the assault, though slightly less so, and Darcy tried not to laugh at his pink cheeks.

Heimdall put aside his huge sword to help her onto Thor's back. He took it up again and stood at the ready, saying in his gravelly voice, "Farewell, Darcy Lewis."

"Thanks, Heimdall. See you around." She smiled at him and he very carefully and deliberately winked. Darcy bit her lip against the grin.

Then it was just her and Thor. "Did you enjoy your visit?" he asked as she made herself comfortable, legs around his middle and pack cinched close to her body. Everything around them began to spin and blur in flashes of gold and star-flecked blue sky.

She nodded, her cheek against his head, staring into the swirl of stars. "I have such tales to tell, but no words to tell them," she said in his ear. She knew his expression was wild as lightning as they rushed into the air toward home.


	31. Flip

Guess who has two thumbs and owns nothing in this fic? This girl.

This is the product of approximately 2.5 seconds of Googling "how to flip an attacker." Don't take this description as an expert guide.

So I planned A. for the 31st chapter to be the Halloween one and B. for this chapter to be Mel's birthday fic, but then I got on a roll and had to post it now. Whoops.

Thanks for the reviews! Hope you enjoy this.

* * *

"Hey, c'mere."

Steve automatically does as he's told. He may be a captain and a team leader, but he also knows that he needs to listen to his girlfriend—not all the time, maybe, but at least some of it. So he goes over and stands in front of her, awaiting further instruction.

Darcy arranges him, looking around her apartment and then pushing him a few steps back and to the left, nudging his feet apart just a tad. He complies patiently, amused and curious, as he watches her bent dark head. Her hair is in a loose braid curling over one shoulder; she's barefoot, in flannel pants and a t-shirt from a high school she didn't attend. She's said it was a friend's school, and he's pretty sure she means an old boyfriend's. Maybe he should mind, maybe that's what a good boyfriend would do, but he doesn't. For all intents and purposes it's just _her_ shirt. It smells like her; it catches on her curves as she moves. Come to think of it, he actually really likes the shirt.

When he's apparently situated to her satisfaction Darcy stands in front of him, facing the same direction he does. Left to his own devices he'd put his arms around her and nuzzle into her hair, enjoying (to put it mildly) the scent of her shampoo and the promising wiggle of her body against his. But he doesn't know if an embrace is part of this grand scheme of hers, so he waits.

Sure enough, she reaches back and grabs his right arm, positioning it high across her chest, just under her neck. It's not exactly what he expected, especially the way she has both of her hands clasped tightly around that arm. She probably doesn't think he can hear her when she says "I've got you right where I want you now" right before she inhales deeply. It is deeply ominous. Steve frowns. At this point he's gotta ask.

"Sweetheart, what—" is as far as he gets before he's caught off guard. Darcy moves with a speed he's unaccustomed to her using; she bends her knees, pops her butt up and back, and hauls down hard on his arm. The result is that he finds himself not exactly flying through the air but definitely moving, over her shoulder and onto the floor. He lands ungracefully, half on his side, with an "Oof" shocked out of him.

"Yes!" Darcy crows, straightening from her crouch and pumping her fist. "Thank you, Hogun!"

"Darcy," Steve groans, "what the hell?"

"Look what I learned in Asgard!" she says proudly and belatedly. "The Warriors Three and Sif taught me that."

"And you couldn't warn me?" He flops onto his back pathetically. At least it didn't happen at the tower, where JARVIS would have recorded it for Tony's eternal amusement. He's thankful he can retain some of his dignity.

She scoffs. "If I'd told you, you would've let me flip you. If you didn't know, it'd be a better test of whether I could do it or not."

"If you'd told me, I would've asked for a mat," he grumbles.

"You're fine, you big baby." She completely waves away his pain and suffering. Said pain and suffering is negligible, but he'd appreciate a little sympathy nonetheless. She isn't even leaning over to check on him, just standing above him like a conqueror. "I still have plenty of questions about Asgard, though. I think the days are longer than ours, for one, and I'm wondering if the gravity's higher there, just slightly, because it seemed easier to flip you than—"

And that's as far as _she_ gets, because Steve yanks her foot out from under her. Darcy yelps in surprise and flails to keep her balance before toppling over onto him. Maybe he should've thought this through a little better. He _oof_s again when she lands on his stomach, and she swears.

"It's like hitting a brick wall." He notices that she doesn't move to get up, only scoots around so she can look him in the eye more easily.

"Yeah, well, the floor wasn't much better."

"Whatever, you'll heal. I, on the other hand, will be all bruised tomorrow."

"No, you won't. And even if you were, you should've thought of that before you started this." There's a pop culture reference on the tip of this tongue, something about a bull and its horns, but he can't remember the whole thing before she's moved on.

"You should be proud of me for continuing my education in the martial arts," she says, poking him in the chest. She's close enough that the end of her braid tickles his chest, even through his t-shirt, and he can smell her shampoo.

"I am. I just wish you'd demonstrated them on someone else."

Her eyes glint feistily. "Fine," she declares, putting her palms on the floor either side of his head, preparing to push herself up, hopefully without kneeing him in the crotch. "I'll go show someone who'll appreciate it, like Clint and Natasha."

It's too easy to knock one hand out from under her and roll her onto her back, reversing their positions. She's foolishly surprised and then tries to scowl; he smirks down at her.

"Not when I've got you right where I want you," he murmurs.

She smiles brilliantly. Neither of them is at all surprised by what comes next.


	32. Halloween

**Disclaimer:** Please don't make me list all the things in here that I don't own. There are too many.

Thanks for all the reviews and favorites and follows, and thanks to Mel for help with solving the difficult problem of candy preferences. :)

Okay, amigos, November is going to be crazy, so the next chapter most likely won't be until the beginning of December.

* * *

_You are invited to Stark Industries' Halloween Costume Party, October 31, 8-midnight in the Terrace Room of the Plaza Hotel. Please attend in costume._

Bruce ran his finger along the edge of the invitation. Pepper's design influence was readily evident; the cardstock was a pale pumpkin color and the raised lettering was an elegant italic with just a hint of blackletter in a nod to the darkness of the holiday.

And then a note at the bottom in Tony's handwriting said DO NOT MAKE ME SUFFER THIS ALONE. Bruce smirked.

"I know you'll probably say it's not a good idea, but come on, BB. I'll be there, and Pepper, and I'm sure Darcy will drag Steve along for a while—"

"You invited Darcy? To your company party?" Hangouts at the tower were one thing, but putting Darcy in the midst of shareholders and engineers and probably some reporters was completely different. Then again, surely Pepper had had some oversight of the guest list, and far be it from him to second-guess Pepper Potts.

"Anything to liven it up. Thor seemed pretty interested, so he and Dr. Foster will most likely be there. You can steal her and sneak off to a corner and talk about astrophysics," he wheedled.

It was heartwarming (Bruce didn't remember being such a sap in the past as to need his heart warmed) that Tony was making such an effort to convince him. "I was going to say yes anyway."

"Really?"

"Sure. It's not like you invited me to a rave on Long Island, Tony. It's a Stark Industries event in a hotel ballroom. I'm not too afraid of things getting out of hand." Bruce only nearly smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

In return Tony's eyes went much less manic. "Oh. Well, good." He clapped Bruce on the shoulder and went back to his calculations.

They worked in silence for a moment before Bruce broke it by saying, "Ten bucks says Barton's gonna be dressed as Robin Hood."

Tony perked up again, shaking his head. "Nuh-uh. Legolas. Better hair. And ten? Don't lowball me, Banner."

"Do you not recall him trying to throttle you during the Lord of the Rings? It won't be Legolas."

"So many people have tried to throttle me over the years that it's getting tough to keep track of them all," Tony said flippantly, apparently unconcerned about the very real attempts on his life. "In this case I do remember, but I don't think he does."

"I still say Robin Hood. I mean, are there any other famous archers?"

"I don't think he'll go as Katniss or Merida."

"Better hair," Bruce repeated with a shrug, and Tony laughed silently.

"I can see him now with that curly red hair…" He gazed into the distance, picturing it.

"I wouldn't put it past him. What are you going to wear?"

"What are we, Clint and Steve? Or did you just want to wear matching costumes?"

"So you don't know yet," Bruce correctly translated.

"I was just waiting for inspiration to strike."

"Which means you were waiting to see what Pepper brings home for you."

Tony leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. "Wow, you're really getting sassy. Tell me, doctor, is this a side effect of outrageous genius?"

"You should know." They exchanged exaggerated fawning stares for a moment; then Tony carried on in his usual tone.

"So you want Pepper to pick something up for you? We could come up with something that plays to your natural strengths…like your chest hair. Gorilla? Freddie Mercury? Mexican wrestler? You could wear some spandex pants and a luchador mask and go shirtless and you'd be golden."

"Nah. I'll think of something on my own, thanks."

"Let Pep know if you're stumped. I'm sure she won't mind picking up one more."

Knowing Pepper, she had enough to deal in the planning of and preparation for the party, and while Tony was probably right and she wouldn't really mind, Bruce wouldn't feel right making more work for her. Besides, he was a grown man, and a pretty smart one. He could find himself a costume.

* * *

Thor bowed deeply in front of Jane where she sat on the couch. She took the envelope that he offered; it was addressed to both of them but had no return address. She opened it, noting the quality of the stationery, and slid out the card. She hadn't been to a costume party in years, and never one so fancy that it was held at a world-famous hotel. Thor sat down next to her and her old couch dipped and groaned the way it always did.

"You want to go to this party?" she asked, leaning against him. He shifted his arm to encircle her slim shoulders.

"I am fond of society and celebrations, as you know. But I confess I do not know much about the occasion."

"Halloween is short for All Hallows' Eve. In the past it was a holiday to remember the dead, and the dying of the year. Now it's more about creepy stuff and jack-o'-lanterns and trick-or-treating. That's when kids go around their neighborhood and ring doorbells to get candy."

Thor's stomach rumbled in anticipation. "Clint did mention that. I do love candy."

"I know you do, my love." She couldn't resist craning her neck up and pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

He took the card from her and glanced at it. "The invitation asks that we come in costume. Why?"

She shrugged, though the gesture was minimized by the weight of Thor's arm. "Tradition. I think it's something about fooling Death into thinking you're someone else. If you want to know more about the history, you really ought to ask Darcy. I just know about the real-life part."

"I am most appreciative of your real-life knowledge," he murmured, guiding her lips to his. They kissed for several minutes; Jane was in Thor's lap by the time they broke apart. He set his chin on her shoulder and asked, "How does one choose a costume for this holiday?"

"You just think of something you want to be. Lots of times it's something that you couldn't actually really be. Then we can either buy the costume or try to make it somehow. It does help if it's something people would understand easily," she added, in case he was thinking of dressing like a creature from one of the other realms. She'd heard plenty about the backahast and Himinhrjotr.

Thor nodded. "Have you often worn a costume for this Halloween?"

"Sure, I think most of us have. Mostly when we were kids—that's who dresses up the most."

"What did you dress as when you were a child?"

"I was the usual things: a princess one year, and a cowgirl, and a ladybug. I was a dentist once. That was my last year trick-or-treating." She'd looked young enough to still go out after that, but since no one had appreciated the irony of her costume, she'd decided to give up the door-to-door portion of the holiday.

Thor seemed to be deep in thought. "Do you have an idea?"

He moved the hair off her neck and tightened his arm around her waist. "The idea I have now does not involve any manner of clothing," he said in his effortlessly seductive voice. Jane twisted to face him.

"I like that idea."

* * *

"Tash, what're you going to wear to the party?"

She hitched one shoulder up. "I don't even know if I'm going. I might volunteer for duty that night."

"Don't you dare. You have to come."

"What, to watch a bunch of rich snobs in silly clothes act like children? If I wanted to see that I'd just spend time at the tower."

"Tony's not a snob. And it's Halloween! Tasha, there'll be _candy corn_."

She muttered a curse under her breath. "Just what I don't need, you all sugared up."

"Come on. We both know that you have to deal with weird shit when you work on Halloween. And it's worse than our normal weird shit because it's regular people being creepy." She couldn't disagree with that.

"What if Fury calls us in to work that night?"

He frowned in thought. "We could be working," he said, slowly, as the idea came to him. "In a surveillance capacity. Especially if the rest of the team's going to be there, and the type of rich snobs who get mugged or held hostage for their pocket change." Clint looked hopeful.

"Don't think I don't see right through you, Barton. You're just in it for the candy and the costume."

That was as good as agreement from her. Clint grinned. "What's that, Natasha? You'd love to come and have fun with our friends? I'm glad to hear it. So what are you going to wear to the party?"

* * *

Picking a costume turned out to be harder than he'd expected. Costumes had always made him feel ridiculous, and he didn't even know what was acceptable for adults on Halloween. A quick search online left him feeling slightly dirty—he hadn't known so many otherwise-innocuous outfits could be made "sexy." He decided that the sexy skunk was slightly less ridiculous than the sexy hamburger before closing the browser (and then opening it again and clearing his search history, just in case).

He'd thought of dressing as a plague doctor, but then considered that might have been a little too "Masque of the Red Death" for some partygoers' tastes. He'd ended up with something between that and the Venice carnival look: a navy blue velvet robe and a pale beaked mask. It was nondescript and vague as far as costumes went, but he felt comfortable with the concept of it. The fact that most people wouldn't know him, and that his friends wouldn't really care what he looked like, did not make him feel any less foolish. But a not-so-tiny part of him relished the idea of anonymity, of not being judged. And he had to admit, at least to himself, that the voluminous robe gave him room to grow, so to speak; though on the other hand, tonight was really the only socially acceptable time for the Other Guy to make an appearance.

He worried the invitation on the cab ride to the Plaza, irrationally afraid of not being allowed in. The thought made him chuckle; in the past he'd have done almost anything to avoid this kind of social situation. Now he'd rather not miss it.

* * *

"Are you serious right now?"

"Serious about you being wrong? Yeah, I am."

"I can't believe you just said that!"

"I can't believe you didn't bring this up earlier. As in not the night of the party."

"_You_ could've brought it up, too, you know."

"How was I supposed to know you wanted to wear matching costumes?"

"I'm pretty sure I said, 'Hey, Steve, what do you think about matching costumes?' and you said, 'They're cute.'"

"I did not say they're cute."

"Fine. You grunted in an approving fashion."

"Anyway, I thought you meant in general. I didn't know you meant _us_ matching."

"Well, now you know. Are you gonna go change?"

"No! I like this costume. Yours isn't even right."

"It is so, you jerk! Just because you've never read the book…"

"I have read it, but it's been a long time and I've been kinda busy. Come on, we've gotta go if we're going to be on time."

"Just so you know, we are fighting and I am getting so drunk tonight."

"Thanks. Figured that out on my own."

* * *

Thor was delighted by the trick-or-treaters that came to the door. He tried to have long conversations with them about what their costumes signified, and handed out huge fistfuls of candy. Jane probably should have told him to dial it back a little, but she couldn't stand to dampen his enthusiasm. Fortunately she'd let him be in charge of buying the candy, so there was plenty to spare. He sat by the door, half-dressed in his own costume, an expectant grin on his face that easily doubled at each knock on the door or ring of the bell. He wanted to take pictures of the cutest kids, forcing Jane to explain that many parents would not appreciate total strangers having photos of their children. Fortunately, some of the kids wanted pictures with him—and Jane suspected their moms and a few of the dads wouldn't mind having pictures of Thor, either—so he knelt in the doorway and, grinning, put his arms around the goblins and Hogwarts students and a truly ridiculously adorable toddler dragon.

If he hadn't given away most of the treats (aside from the chocolates she'd squirreled away beforehand), she'd never have been able to drag him out of the apartment and to the party.

By the time they walked in, she thought she'd rather have stayed home.

* * *

"Welcome to the party," Pepper said graciously. She was dressed in a gown of grey-green chiffon that draped elegantly; her hair was parted in the center and pulled back in a low chignon, and a spiked green tiara rested on her head. "I love your costume, Darcy."

"Thanks!" She was dressed as Dorothy, with her hair in braids and a wicker basket over one arm. "Someone refused to dress as any of the other characters, so we're kind of in a fight about it," she said in brittle brightness.

"We're also in a fight about the fact that they're supposed to be ruby slippers, not silver ones," Steve pointed out. He was wearing a Brooklyn Dodgers uniform, a blue cap covering his hair.

"In the _book _they were silver, possibly to represent silver as a monetary standard—"

"But if the rest of your outfit is based on the movie Dorothy—"

Tony, looking distinctly not miserable, waltzed over in time to hear the exchange. He wore a scarlet cutaway jacket with tails over a white shirt and black bowtie. The pants were black and he wore shiny black boots. A top hat sat at a rakish angle on his head. He'd probably had the outfit custom made; it fit perfectly and he looked sharp in it. "Hey. Glad you could make it. Dorothy, I've got just the thing for you. Accompany me over to the bar for a caramel apple martini."

"That sounds delicious. Lead the way, Rusty." Darcy took Tony's arm and together they sashayed away.

Steve screwed up his face. "Sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it." Pepper patted his arm. "You would've been wasted as the Scarecrow."

"Better the Scarecrow than Toto. And you look lovely."

"I knew you'd like it."

* * *

"...And they're not even the tight baseball pants, they're the old-fashioned kind that you have to wear garters around your knees for," Darcy griped. "So I'm getting robbed of seeing his ass in tight pants all night, too."

Tony slumped over the bar. "Please shut up."

"I didn't get the sexy Dorothy costume, because I didn't want to get his wires too crossed. Now I just look like an overgrown kid."

"Kill me now."

The pause meant that she was making a face, though he couldn't be bothered to look. "I thought you were being cool and supportive here," she whined. Tony groaned and sat up, rubbing his temples and then smiling insincerely at her.

"Listen, Darce, you know and I know and he knows and everybody knows that by the end of the night you'll have made up. It's just costumes. It's not worth having a fight over."

This time he caught the gagging face she made. "I hate telling you you're right."

"You don't have to say it if you sit here and make fun of people with me." It'd brighten both of their moods.

"Deal."

* * *

"Would you care to dance?" Steve asked, holding a hand out. Pepper nodded and took it.

"You know, you're not a bad dancer."

He shrugged. "This one's easy. Anything more complicated and I start to have trouble. Besides, it's easy with a good partner." She'd seen it happen plenty of times, but right now Pepper wondered how anyone could get mad at sweet, charming Steve.

"I should go apologize to Darcy, shouldn't I?" It wasn't much of a question the way he phrased it.

"You're going to leave me in the middle of our dance?" Pepper asked, teasing to try to lighten his mood.

He shook his head with a half-smile. "What kind of jerk do you take me for? It's such a dumb thing to argue about, and I can't have her mad at me. If something happened…"

"Nothing is going to happen," she assured him. "And even if something did, God forbid, Darcy knows you love her."

Steve sighed and they lapsed into silence for a moment. Then he changed the subject and said, "I heard Agent Hill couldn't make it?"

"No, she's on duty. It's Halloween; all the crazies come out. Or so I hear. Personally, I can't see a difference between today and any other day with this crew." Pepper grinned mischievously, and Steve chuckled.

"I wonder how Coulson escaped it. Duty, that is, not our craziness."

She cocked her head to one side. "Oddly enough, they needed him to go look into something earlier this week. Some suspicious activity out in Portland." Anyone else might have wondered why the hostess was so very pleased about someone missing her party for work.

* * *

The accountant chatting away at her with was the least threatening Freddy Kreuger ever. Darcy thought it would have been much scarier if he'd brought a pile of tax forms with him and slipped them into people's pockets while they weren't looking. "And how are you affiliated with Stark Industries?"

"I'm Tony's illegitimate daughter. Usually what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but…" She shrugged. "What can you do?"

Like he had some kind of super hearing, Tony swooped in and put his arm around her shoulder. "Now, see, Darcy, the problem with saying something like that is that it's altogether too believable. People won't know you're kidding," he said with a smarmy smile at the man. "Darcy here is a former intern in our astrophysics consultation department."

Freddy's expression changed from shock to dull confusion. "I didn't know you had an astrophysics consultation department."

"It's very small. So small it practically doesn't exist. If you'll excuse us." He turned and steered Darcy back toward the bar.

When they were a safe distance away, Darcy giggled deviously. "Did you see his face?" The arm around her dropped away, and she looked over; at Tony's expression she asked, "What? You're not seriously mad that I told him that, are you?"

He was scowling and pouting simultaneously. "I am not old enough to be your father!"

"Yes, you are."

"I am not!"

"Technically, yeah, you are. You would've been, like, 16 when I was born, but that's plenty old enough." She nudged him in the ribs. "You should be happy; I'm giving you credit for being not only a science prodigy but a sex prodigy, too."

Despite her faith in his prowess, he did not look happy. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared into the distance. Darcy decided not to point out that frowning like that was only going to make him look older in the long run.

"I'm glad this is what you're upset about. If it makes you feel better, Steve is old enough to be _your_ father, and I still think he's pretty foxy." She patted him on the stomach; his abs flexed, and she clamped her lips closed over another giggle.

* * *

It turned out no one owed anyone any money. When Clint appeared he wore short boots and some kind of wooly leggings under a dirty-looking tunic. There was a quiver full of arrows at his back, and a very long bow slung over his shoulder. No one would ever mistake the bow for anything but practical.

"If you're supposed to be Robin Hood, you've kind of missed the main point."

He snorted. "Please. Robin Hood is for amateurs."

"So enlighten us."

"I'm a Welsh longbowman from the Battle of Agincourt." Both of them gaped at him. "What? Archers played a pivotal role in the Hundred Years War!"

"You are such a nerd," Darcy scoffed.

"That's rich coming from you," he shot back.

Tony noted, not especially kindly, "That bow is taller than you are."

"Hence the name _long_bow, genius."

"How'd you get through security with all that?"

Clint reached over his shoulder, muscles bunching under the thick cloth of the tunic, and pulled one of the arrows from the quiver. It was blunt, with a slot cut in the end for a head to be fitted in.

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Something tells me you've got a bunch of arrowheads stashed somewhere around here."

"I can neither confirm nor deny that," Clint said, expression nonexistent. "Where's everybody else?"

"What, we're not good enough for you?"

"Last I saw, Steve and Pepper were dancing. Haven't seen anybody else yet."

Clint turned and scanned the room. "I'll keep an eye out."

"While you're keeping an eye out for any buxom young maidens?" Tony asked. Clint grinned and winked before slipping into the crowd.

* * *

The figure seemed to float towards them, its robe billowing impressively as it approached. The mask that covered half of its face was like a bird's skull, bone white and beaked. The aura of mystery and menace was diminished by the pair of warm brown eyes peering out from behind the mask.

"Is that you, Brucie?"

"You look creepy, Dr. B. Good job."

Bruce pulled off the mask. His hair stuck up a little at the front. "Thanks. How'd you know it was me?"

"Super classy identity-concealing costume…"

"…with a nod to medico-scientific history?" Tony shrugged. "Had to be you."

He smiled at them. "Finishing each others' sentences is new for you two."

"Like father, like daughter," Darcy chortled, and Tony glared at her. Before Bruce had a chance to ask, she cocked her head to listen to the music and cried, "Hey, this is my song! Who wants to dance with me?"

The song was "The Lady is a Tramp." Tony snorted unattractively.

"I will." Bruce offered his arm and Darcy latched on to it.

"Then I guess I'll keep holding up the bar." Tony saluted them with his glass as they walked off.

As they made their way to the throng of dancers Bruce asked, "Where's Steve?"

"We're having a thing," she said offhandedly, as if it wasn't important. Like he would believe that.

"A fight?"

"An evening apart." Bruce made to put his mask back on, one-handed, but Darcy stopped him. "You gotta leave that off. I don't want to get pecked in the face. And you should show everybody here what a hottie you are."

He snorted self-deprecatingly. "I see Drunk-ass Darcy is making her triumphant return."

She curtseyed, not entirely gracefully. "Those martinis are unbelievable, it's not even funny. I plan on having a few more and then having a terrible, terrible hangover tomorrow. But you—" she poked his chest "—are adorable and no one, no women, will ever know that if you hide behind shapeless robes and weird beaky masks."

"Adorable," he grumbled. "I'm not a puppy, Darcy. And I don't need women to notice me." She wondered if the fact that he was looking over her shoulder instead of meeting her eyes meant he was lying. At least he wasn't looking at her boobs—not that they were worth looking at in this costume, but she appreciated his self-restraint.

"Don't you want to get your freak on?"

A startled laugh escaped his lips. "Have you been talking with Tony? Are you conspiring against me, Darcy? I thought we were friends," he sighed in mock hurt.

"This is all out of friendship. We just want you to be happy," she said earnestly.

Bruce didn't want to crush her dreams, but he also didn't want her to try to set him up with anyone. He couldn't even imagine the disaster of epic proportions that that would be. "No chance you'll believe me if I say I am happy and you don't need to worry, huh."

She shook her head. "It's a scientific fact that it's not healthy to be celibate when you're surrounded by insanely sexy cohorts 24/7."

"I'm sure you're right. But it's complicated. You know that. So just do me a favor and let it go."

She sighed. "All right. I can't say no to those eyes." She pinched his cheek; her fingers were just a little sticky, probably from the martinis.

He took the opportunity to ask, "So what are you and Steve fighting about?"

Darcy shook her finger at him. "I see what you're trying to do here, Banner."

"It's working, isn't it?" He smiled and even though he didn't mean it to be, it was completely charming.

"You're lucky I'm a little drunk," she said, snuggling up to him.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Pepper found him sitting in front of the bar. She knew he hadn't wanted to have a big party, but it was for the sake of the company. They weren't in a crisis situation, but the employees needed to see that they were appreciated, the stockholders needed some reassurance, and they all needed the positive PR—business as usual at Stark Industries. At least Tony was facing the room, not the alcohol. "Can the bar survive without you for a minute?" she asked through a fixed smile.

"I'd say so." Tony slithered off the stool and followed Pepper.

They danced silently; after spending all day directing the set-up and then greeting guests as they arrived, Pepper was grateful to have a break from talking to anyone. Around them the ballroom was decorated in a tasteful yet holiday-appropriate style: there were absolutely no coffins or skeletons or even cobwebs. Black satin covered the refreshment tables and expertly laser-carved pumpkins, Tony's biggest contribution, sat among the platters of hors d'oeuvres and bowls of candy. The room was lit with candles on the tables and orange bulbs in the chandeliers overhead, while black lights in the sconces around the dance floor lent an otherworldly ambience. They'd even put some kind of film over the mirrors that covered one long wall; the result was smoky, slightly distorted reflections. It was very cool.

"As usual, Pepper, you have done a masterful job. This place looks amazing."

The compliment caught her by surprise. "Thank you. I'm glad you think so."

"Though I still say we could've had the animatronic bartenders," Tony went on. "Or at least the holograms. How cool would holograms in front of the mirrors be?" He could just picture wraiths seeming to appear from the depths.

"And to think, mere seconds ago you were giving me a compliment," Pepper remarked dryly. He turned his attention back to the woman in his arms, whose smile was fond and only a little exasperated, and held her closer.

"I was. Allow me to pick up where I left off. You, Ms. Potts, are gorgeous and brilliant and, luckily for me, very patient. And you throw a hell of a party. I couldn't be more proud."

Pepper was rolling her eyes and blushing. "Okay, that's enough."

"Sure? I could go on," he offered.

She shook her head. "It's all right. Thank you, Tony."

"Don't thank me yet."

She raised an eyebrow in question, and he leaned forward and kissed her, keeping it as work-event-appropriate as he could. When he pulled back he murmured, "Okay, now you can thank me."

* * *

Darcy turned away from the bar to survey the crowd. She took a sip of her drink, feeling very sophisticated despite the costume; if her high school friends could see her now, sitting next to Tony Stark at his company's party, which she had not crashed but had actually been invited to, they wouldn't believe their eyes.

Of course her moment of maturity was ruined when she saw something across the room that made her choke on caramel apple martini. She fought valiantly not to spew her drink and did indeed manage to swallow it, but then succumb to a coughing fit that had Tony asking if she needed the Heimlich maneuver. She held a napkin to her mouth, spluttering, and finally managed to croak out "Oh my god" while pointing at the approaching couple. Tony followed her finger and was very glad that he didn't have his own mouthful of martini to choke on.

Thor practically glowed. He was decked out in an all-white suit and a white shirt. He wore silver gloves and what looked to be old bowling shoes spraypainted silver. His hair flowed lustrously free around his shoulders, and from just above his hairline rose a spiraling horn, silver with a faint pearlescent sheen.

Next to him Jane looked tiny and embarrassed in a burgundy brocade late-medieval style gown. A thin gold circlet held her hair in place.

"The lady and the unicorn, I see," Tony said, his face twitching with the effort of not laughing.

Thor beamed. "You see, Jane, they understand!" Jane did not look appeased in the slightest.

"I blame this on you," she muttered darkly to Darcy. "All those trips to the Cloisters, looking at the Unicorn Tapestries..."

"They also have tapestries of Charlemagne and King Arthur. This can hardly be my fault." She bit her lip to keep from laughing.

"How many stores did you have to go to to find a white suit that fit him?" Tony asked, rubbing a hand over his mouth as if to scrub away the grin there.

"A lot," Jane growled. Thor stood looking proud and majestic, unfazed by his girlfriend's ire, and when Darcy's and Tony's eyes met, they could no longer contain their laughter. Jane glared and Thor grinned and Darcy fell onto Tony's shoulder.

"Only you, bud," she said through her laughter. Jane lost it.

"Some college guys asked if he was a brony and wanted to know what his cutie mark was. I don't even know what those things mean, but somehow, _he knew_! I had to agree to watch 'My Little Pony' with him later. Do you know when the last time I watched 'My Little Pony' was? I had terrible bangs and overalls. I didn't even know there was a new version."

"It's important for couples to understand each others' interests," Tony counseled sagely, as if he was at all qualified to give relationship advice. Darcy could almost see the little cartoon daggers from Jane's eyes to Tony's head, so she put in her two cents.

"His cutie mark is the hammer. Duh."

"It could be a lightning bolt, too."

"Yeah, you're right."

"I hate you all," Jane seethed.

* * *

Thor managed to coax Jane away from the duo before she was forced to hurt one or both of them. Really, there were just so many jokes to be made about horns and virgins that it was overly optimistic for her to expect that they wouldn't go there. Tony and Darcy kept coming up with one-liners even after the pair had moved away, inspired by Thor's horn still visible above the crowd.

Their costumes had reminded Darcy of something, and she told Tony, "At some point we need to round everybody up and get a picture."

"Sure. Let me just hop on the microphone and ask all the Avengers and their associates to gather at the bar."

Darcy ignored the sarcasm. "I haven't seen Natasha, though. Have you?"

He hadn't, but he felt fairly confident in his ability to spot her. He'd done it in Zurich, even without the trademark red hair, so there was no reason he wouldn't be able to now. Unless for some reason she really didn't want him to recognize her; he wouldn't put it past her. Tony spread his arms along the bar and observed.

Steve was talking to Thor, apparently about baseball. Tony wondered if there was any place big enough for the two of them to go hit some balls, remembered the Hulk-out warehouse, and then wondered if there were any baseballs that would survive being hit by the two of them. Nearby Pepper and Dr. Foster chatted with some of the shareholders; when Pepper looked his way he winked and her lips quirked up in a smile before her attention returned to their guests. Over at one of the refreshment tables, Bruce had his mask in his hands as he talked to some of the catering staff. As Tony watched he rummaged through his pockets for a card and then wrote something on it—most likely the address of the clinic that he volunteered at. Clint was standing at another table, eyeing the apples longingly and plucking the string of his longbow. A cute blonde said something to him, nodding at the bow, and he smirked and flirted back. Natasha was nowhere in sight.

"How 'bout the tiger-lady there?" Darcy suggested, but even she could see that the woman in question was too thin.

"She's definitely not the Playboy bunny. She'd look better in the costume than that."

She elbowed him, hard. "Perv."

"You know I'm right."

"That's beside the point. You're old enough to be her dad, too."

Tony shuddered. Did she have to keep bringing it up? "Ugh. Good thing I didn't look at her naked when I had the chance."

"That, and she would've ripped your eyes out." He was forced to agree; he'd thought the same thing at the time. "Ooh, is that Carmen Sandiego? If that's not her, it should be."

"Marie Antoinette over there?"

"Would Natasha dress as a woman who got her head chopped off?"

"Normally, no, but she would if she was trying to keep us from finding her out."

"Good point. If she's decided to go unnoticed, we don't stand a chance."

* * *

Clint scanned the room, certain that he of all people would be able to spot Natasha. Some guests lounged on the banquettes, eating hors d'oeuvres and sipping cocktails; others swayed to the music. Little knots of people stood talking and laughing. None of them were Nat.

Across the room he noticed a woman all in black: a heavy, old-fashioned dress that went clear from the floor to the chin, complete with gloves and, the dead giveaway, a veil covering her face. He smiled. That was her. It had to be. She was the right height and, okay, she looked wider than normal, but if Natasha was wearing a disguise, she would _commit_ to it. Even if that meant wearing padding to hide her bangin' figure. He slipped deftly through the crowd and stood behind her.

"Found you," he crowed quietly, leaning in. "Didn't work real hard on the costume idea, did you? You just went for the literal black widow."

The woman who turned around was definitely not Natasha. "Excuse me? Were you talking to me?" With the veil lifted she had a doughy face and confused blue eyes. Apparently that wasn't padding. Clint took a quick step back.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else."

The woman's face broke into a delighted smile. "I'm so glad! It's been happening all night."

Clint smiled back, relieved that she wasn't upset with him and happy with her self-satisfaction. "Are you anyone in particular?" he asked politely. Close-up, her costume was really ornate, with beading and lace.

"It'll make more sense with my husband. Ed," she called, turning her head and waving someone over. A tall, thin man shuffled over; he wore a ragged old-fashioned suit with a bowtie and a stovepipe hat, and his bearded face was zombified with makeup. The two of them stared at Clint expectantly.

It was a little weird, but at least pretty original. "How do you keep the, uh, former President from eating your brains, Mrs. Lincoln?"

The woman smiled even wider and clapped her hands together at Clint's recognition of their costumes; her husband answered drily, "She hasn't got any." Clint wasn't sure if that was Ed or Abe speaking, but whichever one, he turned his wife away and back to the conversation he'd left. She waved over her shoulder at Clint, and he waved back.

Behind him he thought he heard a familiar low chuckle. He didn't even bother to turn around to look; he just shook his head and sighed.

* * *

Thor held a bowl heaped with candy in one hand. He gave it to Steve and took off his jacket before sitting down heavily on the padded bench and taking the candy back.

"Gonna warn me about hurting Darcy?" Steve pushed his cap back on his head. On the off chance that Thor decided to deck him, he didn't want the hat to get crushed; it'd been a gift from Tony.

Thor eyed him obliquely as he balanced the bowl on his knee. "Why? Can you not remember the last warning?" He rolled up his sleeves and continued, "In this as in all things, you know the risks you take, my friend."

"That's hardly reassuring."

Thor shrugged and emptied a packet of Skittles directly into his mouth. He squinted at a dark-clothed figure with subtly shimmering skin passing in front of them. "What is that?"

Steve thought he caught a glimpse of fangs. "A vampire, maybe?"

"Ah, yes," Thor said with a nod. "As in _Twilight_. Though I understand what it is like to love so deeply you would risk all to see your beloved again, the tales lacked a proper heroic spirit. "

"Maybe you'd like _Dracula_ better. We can get it from the library if you want." He liked the idea of trying to guess what people's costumes were, especially now that he knew Thor wasn't going to get on his case about fighting with Darcy. Steve unwrapped a Reese's cup and popped it in his mouth, licking a smudge of chocolate off the side of his thumb. "That fella there with no head could be the Headless Horseman from Sleepy Hollow. He went around cutting other people's heads off."

"Why?" Thor asked around a mouthful of candy. He wondered if his tongue had changed colors yet.

"Can't remember. Guess I should check that one out from the library, too."

Thor caught sight of a familiar uniform and pointed, grinning. "Look, Steven, a Captain America!"

"That's not a bad suit, actually," Steve said, eyeing it appraisingly. He'd known that there were Avenger costumes available, but this one looked like a deluxe version. Probably custom made; the material looked heavy-duty, though of course not as strong as the fabric of the real suit.

Thor patted his shoulder reassuringly. "He has not the physique you have. No one would truly mistake him for you."

Clint slouched up then and leaned against the wall. In the glow of a black light his face shone eerily, but when he spoke his tone was aggrieved.

"I thought these people were supposed to be educated. Everybody keeps asking if I'm Robin Hood. Does this look like Robin Hood?" He swept a hand down the front of his torso. "This is so obviously not Lincoln green."

"It is not," Thor agreed before inhaling another bag of Skittles. He lifted the bowl of candy to Clint, who rooted through it before selecting a few mini Hershey bars. He shucked the wrapper from a Krackel and ate it.

"I don't know what I expected. But is it too much to ask that there's a hot girl who understands that not every dude with a bow is Robin Hood?" His fingers plucked plaintively at the bowstring.

"Don't worry, Clint," Steve said. "I'm sure one day you'll find a girl who appreciates all the subtle nuances of archery."

"Thanks, Cap." Clint seemed genuinely cheered, and Steve felt a little bad that he'd been poking fun.

"Speaking of worthy women, I have not yet seen Natasha. What costume does she wear?"

Clint shrugged, unwrapping another chocolate. "Dunno. She wouldn't tell me." He neglected to mention his failure to recognize her earlier. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

"She could be anyone and we'd never see her," Steve said, scanning the crowd nonetheless.

Thor couldn't believe that Natasha would do such a thing. "But I wish to see her costume!"

"Me too, pal," Clint mumbled.

* * *

"Wanna dance, handsome?"

Sometime in the near future he was going to sit Darcy down and have a long talk with her about boundaries and the respecting thereof. Bruce was all ready to politely reject the offer as he turned around, only to be momentarily struck speechless.

Despite the odd voice that had propositioned him, he hadn't been expecting a female Groucho Marx. The young woman was wearing a suit and bowtie and what he really hoped was a wig of short, frizzy black hair, parted in the center; it'd been a while since he'd seen someone actually wearing one of those pairs of glasses with a false nose, but she was. An exaggerated fuzzy black mustache and matching eyebrows were secured in the appropriate places. As the finishing touch, an unlit cigar dangled from her lips.

His surprise—evidence of how little he got out, being this surprised at someone's costume while they were at a _Halloween party_, really, Banner—didn't give him any opportunity to resist. By the time he realized what was happening they were nearly in the midst of the crowd of dancers, her pulling on his sleeve. It had to be Natasha, he thought as she placed one of his hands on her waist and lifted the other in hers, or were all women these days so confident as to pull strangers onto the dance floor? Maybe he _should_ get out more.

And what was he even supposed to talk about? Forget maybe; he definitely needed to get out and talk to normal people more. Dr. Foster, in the costume she couldn't have picked for herself but that perfectly fit her relationship with Thor, wandered through his line of sight and he mused, "Psychoanalysts must have a field day with Halloween."

"You mean as if our costume choices reveal our deepest desires, who we truly want to be?" He nodded; she-Groucho asked, "What does yours say about you?"

Looking down at himself, Bruce decided, "That I'm not very imaginative."

She chuckled, and he smiled shyly. This close, he thought that even the moustache couldn't hide the familiar tilt of her lips, but he wasn't ready to be sure. "I think you're reading too much into it," she said. "Is that guy's deepest desire really to be a unicorn?" She nodded at Thor, who was dancing energetically with Darcy.

"It's entirely possible."

"If your theory holds, what do you think my costume says about me?"

"I don't really know you. It would be impolite to make assumptions."

"Assume away," she said airily. "I promise you won't hurt my feelings."

He thought for a minute, looking at the fake mustache, the tie, the carnation in her lapel, and back up to her eyes. Slowly, he began, "If I knew you, I might say that it would be dangerous to take you at face value, no matter what face you present to the world. On the day when most young women are showing off their bodies, you chose not to—to be someone better known for brains than beauty. You obviously value your wit and intelligence at least as much as your looks." He cocked his head to one side, fighting down preemptive embarrassment for the inevitable moment when she turned out to be a total stranger. "Or maybe you just like old movies and wanted the chance to make fun of people all night."

"Sounds like you know me better than you think." That sounded like her: the words, the tone, the timbre, all of it. The song ended and Bruce stopped shuffling and stood awkwardly, hands still in place. She gently moved the hand on her waist as she dug in her pocket, pulling out a phone.

Her voice seemed apologetic but her eyes were amused as she asked, "Do you mind if we get a picture? I have to prove to my best friend that I was here."

"Wouldn't better proof be getting a picture with Tony Stark? It's his party, after all. It could be at any party in the city if it's just me."

She looked up sharply from fiddling with her phone. "There is no _just_ you." Then she turned her back to him and held up the phone. "Smile." The flash went off; Bruce suspected he'd have a serious case of redeye in the resulting photo. He also doubted he'd ever get to see it. Sure enough, she pocketed the phone, twisted around, and kissed him on the cheek.

"Thanks for the dance," she said, replacing the cigar between her lips and winking broadly before sauntering away.

* * *

Clint nodded at Jane as she stepped up to the bar next to him. The bartender delivered Clint's whiskey and took Jane's order for a vodka cranberry. She slumped against the bar, head resting on one hand; though she didn't begrudge Thor's enthusiasm for the holiday, it was impossible to keep up with him.

She felt Clint's eyes on her, following the long sweep of her dress from the floor up to her loose hair. "We probably shouldn't stand next to each other for too long," he observed as she took a grateful sip of her drink. There was a hint of resignation in his tone, as if he wanted to spare them something.

"No? Why's that?"

Someone else answered for him. "Oh, what lovely costumes," said a cultured voice behind them. They turned to see an older woman dressed as Cleopatra smiling widely at them. "Robin Hood and Maid Marian, and so authentic and detailed! But really, dear," she continued, leaning close enough to Clint that he could smell the alcohol on her breath, "shouldn't you be wearing green?"

"I'm undercover," he answered dryly, shooting Jane a sidelong look. She snorted into her glass. Cleopatra blinked, then smiled loosely and weaved away.

Clint held his glass toward Jane. "Happy Halloween," he said, monotone.

"Happy Halloween," she repeated in kind, clinking her glass to his, and they both drank deeply.

* * *

The party was starting to wind down, but not to the extent he expected. Some of the older guests had left, but there were still plenty of people milling around. It was after 11; surely that was late enough to leave. Besides, he'd heard whispers that everyone would be dancing to "Thriller" just before midnight, and he didn't want to get dragged into that. Bruce sidled casually toward the door. He'd had a good time, but the longer he stayed, the less able to control himself he'd be. Even in his head it was a totally flimsy excuse, so he hoped he wouldn't have to try to use it on someone else.

And of course Pepper caught him. "You're not trying to leave already, are you?" Her perfect-hostess mask slipped a little as she planted herself between him and the exit.

"Well…" He tried not to look sheepish, and failed completely.

"Stick around until the end and we can ride back together," she suggested, rather firmly. Before he could even contemplate using his excuse, she said more gently, "Please. It must be a madhouse out there. I'd prefer knowing you're here, safe, with us."

He couldn't say no to her—mostly because she wasn't actually asking, but also because of the effect her words had on him. Bruce smiled wryly as "The Monster Mash" started and offered his arm. "Then how about we dance to pass the time?"

Pepper took it, smiling herself. "I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

Darcy looped her arm around Clint's neck, only partly to hold herself up. "Did you ever find Natasha?"

He shook his head, disgruntled. "I'm not convinced she showed." Clint knew she hadn't been as gung-ho about the party as he'd been, but he'd assumed she'd at least tell him if she was blowing it off completely. And that could have been anybody he'd heard laughing. Or a ghost. It was Halloween, after all.

Almost immediately his phone vibrated. The message was a picture: Natasha was off-center in the foreground, wearing a horrible dark wig and what looked like a man's suit, and in the back Clint saw his own profile, a teasing smirk on his face, the curve of the longbow behind his head. She must've taken it before the girl he was flirting with asked why, if he was an elf, he didn't have pointy ears.

In retrospect, he should've anticipated that Natasha would treat the party as practice. Darcy looked at the picture, digging her chin into his shoulder. "Looks like she did."

"Hey." Both of them turned to see Steve standing there. Darcy pushed herself off of Clint and he dismissed them with a disgusted wave.

They stood looking at each other for a moment, Darcy with her hands clasped in front of her and Steve shifting his weight from foot to foot. Luckily, she'd gotten over their argument hours ago; otherwise she would've had to try to withstand the power of his stupid, vaguely hopeful face that it was not humanly possible to stay mad at. She moved toward him, fought down her natural urge to be obstinate, and said, "I'm sorry."

He visibly relaxed and stepped forward. "Me too. I love you."

"You too."

Steve tugged on the end of one of her braids, gently pulling her closer. "You look really cute, did I tell you that yet?"

"Nope, but now's fine. And I do actually like your costume, you know." She reached up and pulled his cap off, leaving his hair mussed as she stuck it on her own head. "You almost look like a real baseball player."

He tipped the brim up and leaned down to kiss her hard. Then, close to her ear, he asked, "Wanna see if I can hit a home run?"

* * *

Tired ghouls and Hobbits filed out, and Pepper and Tony stood by the exit, waving and shaking hands with the guests. Out of the corner of his mouth Tony asked, "Pepper, am I old?"

"Compared to what? Thank you so much for coming!"

"Great to see you, too. Give me a call tomorrow, we'll set up a meeting. Not funny, Pep."

"It wasn't meant to be. Anyway, parts of you are much younger than others. Oh, it was our pleasure, thank you. Is this about being old enough to be Darcy's father?"

"I wish she'd never said that."

Pepper turned toward Tony and took hold of one of his lapels. "The question that should concern you is not how old you are compared to Darcy, but how old you are in relation to me."

He stroked his chin. "As usual, you're right. I would prefer to look at it in terms of your kind of…relations."

"I knew you would," she murmured, leaning in close and kissing him.

* * *

Jane was picking through a handful of M&Ms when a pair of arms encircled her waist and a head rested on top of hers. "M?" she offered, holding up a candy.

It disappeared from her fingers and a voice rumbled through her back. "I thank you."

"No prob. You about ready to go?"

"Indeed. Shall the unicorn bear his lady home?"

Jane nodded, then considered what exactly he might mean by that. It turned out he meant what it sounded like; he put one arm under her knees and one around her shoulders and lifted her easily, even with all the candy she'd eaten.

Okay, she'd been embarrassed before. She'd been stupidly embarrassed by her wonderful boyfriend who didn't care what other people thought. That wasn't fair of her. "Have I told you lately how much I love you?"

He smiled down at her, blue eyes full of happiness. "I know how much you do. You did dress this way to please me, and I appreciate it." Thor kissed her gently before beginning to walk toward the door.

How could she have ever been embarrassed by a man who treated her like a genuine queen?

Jane rested her head against his chest. "Did you enjoy your first Halloween?"

"How could I not?" he asked. "There were children in adorable costumes and my own weight in candy to eat and fellowship with our friends. And it was all thanks to you. Verily, it was a perfect first Halloween."

"The first of many," she amended.

Thor nodded, nuzzling her cheek. "Happy Halloween, my love."

"Happy Halloween, Thunderhooves. Now take me home and show me your cutie mark."


	33. Aurora Borealis

Disclaimer: Not mine.

I know, I said no updates until December. Surprise! Send your thanks to Mel for inspiring me.

* * *

The aurora swirled over them in ribbons of palely colored light, and the snow underfoot reflected the glow. Jane was bundled in parka, cap, and boots, and had a rough wool blanket thrown around her shoulders. Thor stood behind her, arms encircling her, his warmth filling her, even as her breath misted in the air.

"Long ago," he said, breath tickling her ear, "before you knew of solar winds and magnetic fields, some believed that the _norðrljós_ were the flames of great fires that ringed Midgard. Some believed that a fox of fire that lived in the heavens caused the lights with the twitching of its tail. Some believed that they came from the flashing of the Valkyries' armor, or that they were the reflection of schools of herring in the waters below." Jane chuckled quietly at that. Voice barely above a whisper, he concluded, "And some believed that the ice and snow and frost and glaciers themselves in their power sent forth the lights."

She could see all of it, the flashing fish, the fox's tail, the leaping flames and bright plate armor, the embodiment of cold itself. At the last she shivered, but it was a shiver of wonder, not of cold. Thor tightened his grip around her, resting his head atop hers.

Jane twisted in his arms, turning her back on the lights in favor of looking into her lover's face. She put her arms around his neck and gave him a private, promising smile. "Some cultures still believe that children conceived under the northern lights will have good fortune," she murmured, standing on tiptoes to press her cool lips against his.

"Our children will never lack for good fortune with you as their mother," Thor returned, and the flicker of the lights danced in his eyes.


	34. Mistletoe

**HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MEL!**

My only other note is to recommend "A Snowflake Fell (and It Felt Like a Kiss)" by Glasvegas.

* * *

Some optimistic soul had hung a sprig of mistletoe in the tower. It was quickly removed by a spy in a bad mood, but it reappeared soon after, albeit in a slightly different location. After that it mysteriously migrated around the common areas, never staying in one place for long.

"I know this plant," Thor mused when he noticed it, frowning up at the bunch of leaves and white berries just above his head.

"Then why the face?" Jane asked. "You're usually happier when you recognize something here."

He was silent for a moment as he regarded the plant, too many emotions for her to track playing across his face. Finally he said, "_Mistilteinn_ is no longer auspicious in Asgard," and left it at that.

While there was definitely a place for emotional trauma during the holiday season, this wasn't it. No one had had a tantrum over the right way to make yams yet, or gotten into a fistfight about whose room Grandma was going to sleep in. December had just barely started, and Jane wasn't about to let anybody, least of all her boyfriend, Grinch things up. "It's a little different here. If you get caught under the mistletoe with someone, you have to kiss them."

This caught his attention. "And it matters not who?"

"Nope." She contemplated telling him that it wasn't necessarily a romantic thing, but demurred; either he'd work it out on his own or someone else would help him figure it out. Jane thought about her mountain of paperwork in order to keep a straight face.

"And this is a tradition?"

"It's a classic element of the Yuletide season."

"Very well. As a guest on Midgard, I will abide by your traditions," he said stoically, though there was a glint in his eye that said he wouldn't especially mind.

Jane nodded formally. "You do us great honor by sharing in our celebrations." It was funny how she didn't feel silly saying things like that anymore. Well, as silly as she'd felt at first.

Thor bent at the waist and placed a chaste kiss on Jane's lips. As he pulled away, Jane threw her arms around his neck and kissed him thoroughly.

When she finally released him, Thor's hair was mussed and his eyes were slightly unfocused. "I believe I will enjoy this tradition," he said.

* * *

Tony wandered into the lab looking dazed. "Hey, you alright?" Bruce asked, worried at his friend's unusual preoccupation.

"I think," Tony said slowly, "Thor just slipped me some tongue."

Bruce wasn't sure if he should laugh, cry, or start a full medical workup.

* * *

Jane and Maria both had their hands full with boxes loaded with take-out, but that didn't stop Jane from stretching up and giving the other woman a peck on the cheek without breaking her stride. Maria glanced down sharply.

"JARVIS literally sounds an alarm if we don't 'respect the mistletoe,'" she explained with a shrug. "Just so you know."

It was always something with this crew. Maria looked up; sure enough, the plant was hung in the doorway. "Thanks for the warning." She paused, and then, unable to contain her curiosity, asked, "So who's the best kisser?"

Jane's laugh was both delighted and devious. "You're about to find out."

* * *

It was half dark when he wandered into the kitchen and put the kettle on. After too many hours of squinting into a microscope, he needed a cup of tea and maybe a snack. Bruce slid his glasses to the top of his head and rubbed his eyes, leaning elbows against the countertop; he heard the footsteps approach and the refrigerator open and then shut. When the footsteps didn't leave he looked up, vision blurry and eyebrows quirked expectantly. The slight figure pointed up mutely. Bruce sighed and shook his head and internally cursed Tony or Clint or whoever'd taped the mistletoe to the cabinet since he'd last left the lab.

He looked back at his companion. If they didn't honor the tradition, the alarm would wake people up, and no one needed that at 2:37 in the morning. He didn't like being coerced into it, though. "I—You—" he faltered, before giving up. She was smart; from those two words alone she'd work out what he meant. Hell, she'd probably known what he would try to say before he even started.

Natasha quieted him with a patient smile. He gave one last sigh and then stood, hands clasped in front of him, waiting for her to make the first move. It seemed like the safest course.

She put one hand on his two and leaned forward. Bruce closed his eyes and all but held his breath. Her lips pressed at the corner of his mouth, soft and slightly cool and just light enough to make him wonder if he'd imagined it.

"_S Rozhdestvom_," she said, still close enough that he felt her breath on his cheek.

She was gone when he opened his eyes. He couldn't be sure that it wasn't a dream or a sleep-deprivation hallucination, but the tingling where she'd touched his hands and face remained.

* * *

Darcy wondered why she'd never let Natasha make her a drink before. Instead of hot chocolate with a splash of Bailey's, she was sipping something closer to a 50/50 mixture of the two. It was delicious and perfect with a soft snow coming down outside. She and Nat were curled up on opposite ends of the sofa, reading, a shared blanket covering their feet.

The door to the balcony opened, cold air blowing in. Natasha didn't move but Darcy looked up to see Thor coming in, shaking flurries off his hair. She snuggled deeper into the couch as he divested himself of boots and went off to change clothes.

When he returned it was in a pair of sweatpants and a flannel shirt. "May I join you?" he asked politely. Darcy glanced at Natasha, who nodded, pulling her feet back, along with the blanket. Thor took the space between them, settling back into the cushions. Darcy offered her mug of cocoa and he lowered his lips to it; she tilted it up, letting him drink, even as she muttered, "Lazy." His expression showed that he was absolutely not sorry. Once she'd replaced the mug on the coffee table Darcy curled into Thor's side, all warm and masculine-smelling. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders as she opened her book again. The three of them enjoyed a rare moment of quiet together, the women reading and Thor content to be there.

The moment could not go uninterrupted. A movement caught Natasha's eye and she looked up from her book. "Really?" she asked, monotone. "It floats now?" The pseudo-siblings raised their heads in sync to see the sprig of mistletoe hovering above Thor, held aloft by a small helicopter-type craft.

"That is just not fair," Darcy groused. "It's bad enough he's got JARVIS recording it all the time…"

Thor's hand tightening on her shoulder quieted her. She turned her head to look up at him; he pressed his lips to her temple. Darcy all but melted at the gesture. They exchanged warm smiles before she tucked her head back against his chest.

Then he turned to Natasha. Carefully, gently, like he was approaching a wild animal, Thor reached out and took her hand from where it rested atop her book. He lifted her hand, delicately raised it to his lips, and kissed it lightly. Still holding her hand, he watched for her reaction.

The fingers in his flexed slightly, and then the rest of her moved. In one fluid motion she shifted her weight forward, rising onto her knees, her eyes locked on his. Then she smiled infinitesimally and settled next to him, not touching but close, draping the hand she still held over the back of the couch. Natasha opened her book again as Thor smiled contentedly and quiet again reigned.

* * *

"Pepper, I need you."

"No, you don't."

Pepper had her hands full and was in no mood to be needed. She had contracts to review before the conference call in the morning, and the prospect of reading legalese always made her grouchy. And on top of her actual job she had to deal with the man-child who would not leave her alone until she paid attention to him for a while.

"Yes, I do. On the roof. Come on." The line clicked off, leaving her rebuttal unheard.

"Of course he's on the roof," she grumbled to the empty room. "It's December in New York. Why wouldn't he want me to come up to the roof? It makes perfect sense."

She took the stack of files with her in the dim hope that he'd see them and realize she had things to do. Pepper wrestled a coat on and got in the elevator, tapping her toe impatiently as it climbed to the roof.

She was already calling for Tony as she pushed open the door. The cold took her breath away for a moment and she closed her eyes.

When she opened them again she saw a little tent covered in fabric in the middle of the roof. Light leaked out between the folds. Pepper sighed wearily, trying to quell the curiosity rising within. She squared her shoulders, marched over to the tent and pushed inside.

It was surprisingly warm and cozy, lit with strings of lights and candles. There were rugs on the floor—rooftop—and a small table and a pair of chairs; two mugs, a Thermos and a plate of cookies nearly covered the tabletop. He'd obviously put a lot of effort into whatever this was, and Pepper felt her resolve cracking. Tony stood from one of the chairs as she looked around.

"Have a seat," he offered. When Pepper opened her mouth to protest, he cut her off. "I know you're busy with the call in the morning and you've got all those files to read, which is exactly why you deserve a break." He held out his hands, fingers wiggling, until she relinquished the folders. She tried not to roll her eyes when he almost immediately dropped them on the ground.

As Pepper sat, Tony opened the Thermos and filled the mugs with steaming hot chocolate. He handed one to her and then presented the plate of cookies with a flourish. She smiled and selected one, dunking it in her cocoa. The cookies were her favorite and the chocolate was thick and not too sweet. Tony took a swallow of his drink before moving behind Pepper and putting his hands on her shoulders, kneading the muscles there.

"This is not what I was expecting," she admitted. He chuckled, fully aware of her expectations. He knew just how needy and demanding he could be and how she bore the brunt of it.

"Better, right? I have my moments. And you need more of them."

Pepper craned her head back against his stomach and looked up into Tony's warm eyes, lips curved up gently. "Thank you."

He leaned down to kiss her forehead. "Right back at you."

* * *

"Fancy meeting you here," Darcy said archly.

"Yes, this is quite the unexpected turn of events."

"Unexpected despite the fact that you've been lurking around this particular doorway for half an hour?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Hey, I do not lurk. Spies are too sexy to lurk. Lurking is for trolls."

"If you weren't lurking, how would you describe what you were doing? Lying in wait? Laying a trap for an innocent victim?"

"I think you've got me confused with my better half. Spiders build webs to trap their prey; hawks swoop in before the prey even knows it's in danger. Like so."

Clint grabbed Darcy's waist and dipped her extravagantly. She stifled a squeal and clutched at him, struggling not to lose her balance; he chuckled.

"Well played, Barton," she said coolly, managing a blasé expression even as her fingers dug into his arm. "But is that all you got?"

He smirked and shook his head. "Oh, Lewis, you have no idea."

"Then give me one."

Clint kissed like a pro, and Darcy was no slouch either. Given the hotness of the parties involved, it could not possibly have been anything but movie-quality, he thought. But he also knew that the fact that he was thinking while they kissed spoke volumes.

He pulled Darcy up and onto her feet. "Not bad," she said, wiping her lipgloss from Clint's mouth.

He nodded in agreement. "Call me if you ever break up with Rogers."

They both knew it would never happen. Their combined coolness would only make everyone else totally jealous, and it would lead to feelings of inadequacy and self-doubt in not only the rest of the group but the world at large. They knew they could not unleash such a thing on an unsuspecting populace. There was only one thing left they could do; so both of them solemnly raised a hand and brought them together in a high-five before going their separate ways.

* * *

Darcy stamped the snow off her boots. It was insanely cold out; the snow had stopped falling but wind still howled down the canyons of skyscrapers. Beside her sweater and parka and leggings under her jeans, she had a scarf wrapped up almost to her nose and a hat pulled down low over her ears. Whoever had invited earbuds was a genius, because it meant that she could simultaneously save her ears from frostbite and listen to Christmas music.

She pulled the hat off, loosened the scarf, and knelt down to untie her boots. When she looked up through fogged glasses, Steve was there. He looked warm and snug and amazing as always.

"Hey, baby!"

"Want a hand?"

"Sure." His hand was warm and familiar, and he held her steady as she stepped out of the boots. "Thanks. You're a peach."

Darcy grinned up at him, her nose and cheeks shining red from cold, her hair tousled where her hat had been. He could feel the cold coming off of her and he wanted to shiver. Instead he stepped closer, still holding her hand. "What are you listening to?"

"Only the best Christmas mix _ever_. Here." She pulled an earbud out and handed it to him; it was cold when he put it in. Darcy looked down at her iPod, biting her lower lip.

She watched him with wide, bright eyes, an expectant smile on her face as they listened together. The song was one he'd heard before, since it seemed to be pretty popular this time of year.

Darcy laid one hand against his chest, over his heart. He covered it with his own. "Make my wish come true?"

"There's no mistletoe," he said, even as he leaned in closer.

"That's never stopped us before." And it didn't this time, either.

* * *

A voice from behind her said, "You can't slink around here avoiding all the mistletoe."

She stopped but didn't turn. "Can't I?"

"Nope." He stepped around her neatly, arms folded over his chest, easily confident.

"You sound sure about that."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure."

She knew he had a plan, though she hadn't yet figured out what it was. "You're going to cheat somehow, aren't you?"

"Me?" He pointed at himself, then spread his arms wide. "I am the picture of innocence. I do not plan or scheme or cheat."

Her face said differently.

"Okay, so maybe I've taken steps to sway the odds in my favor a little." Clint reached behind his back and produced a sprig of mistletoe, which he then held above her head.

"Clint…" she sighed.

"Tasha, you are the best partner in the world and I love you very much, but please, just shut up." She shut up and hoped against hope that he would not be wearing his serious face when she looked up.

He wasn't; his expression was fond and happy. Despite herself Natasha felt her lips twist up in a smile, which only made his smile bigger. Clint deliberately balanced the mistletoe on the crown of her head and she stifled a laugh as he wrapped his arms around her. "Happy holidays, Tash," he murmured, kissing her on the cheek.

She returned the kiss and relaxed into his embrace. "Happy holidays, Clinton."

* * *

Coulson swiped his card and pressed his thumb against the pad. He was running a little late; he was supposed to have gotten off early this afternoon, but a meeting that he couldn't sneak out of had gone long. The only thing he'd been able to do was send a furtive text under the table so that no one would worry. It was a strange idea, that he'd have anyone to check in with so they wouldn't worry about him. Sometimes he found it annoying. Mostly he liked it.

The overhead lights were dimmed, and a fire crackled in the fireplace. It was warm and smelled like cookies and pine branches and cinnamon. He heard voices and laughter and soft music playing behind it all, and Phil stopped. It was like an advertisement for a perfect holiday, and he felt sure that stepping into the scene would ruin it, dissolving it like smoke. He stood there quietly, basking in the atmosphere of something right.

He didn't miss the two women attempting to sneak up on him, one on each side, though they probably thought they were being terribly stealthy. Darcy tackled him from the right, pinning his arms against his sides; Pepper put her arm around his shoulder from his other side.

"Hello, ladies."

Darcy released him long enough to shove something on his head and then kiss his cheek. "Merry Christmas, Uncle Phil!" More gently, Pepper wished him happy holidays with a kiss. Darcy wound her arm through his.

With his free hand Coulson reached up. He felt a headband with some kind of wire protruding from the top. At the curved end of the wire was a small bunch of foliage: leaves and a few berries. He might have groaned a little when he realized that it wasn't holly.

"You can't take it off," Darcy said, poking him in the ribs and making the hand closing around the plastic headband pause. They knew him too well.

"Well, you can, but there will be unpleasant repercussions," Pepper added. "You can imagine."

He nodded grimly. Knowing this crew, it could be anything from a bucket of water over the head to a temporary tattoo in indelible ink proclaiming him a Grinch. Whatever the consequence, he didn't want to deal with it, so he stood up straight and set his shoulders, trying not to think about how ridiculous he must look with mistletoe bobbing over his head.

"Oh, come on." Darcy tugged him forward. "You know you want all up in this time-honored tradition." It was hard to disagree with the look on her face and the cheerful snowflake pattern on her sweater. Pepper beamed with goodwill and hot spiced wine, no doubt made with an old Asgardian recipe. The others were in the next room, eating and drinking and making merry. How could he say no?

So he wrested his arms from theirs, ignoring their cries, and kissed Pepper on the cheek and Darcy on the nose. As they laughed, Phil put his arms around them, and together they walked into the warmth and gaiety that waited.


	35. St Patrick's Day

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the many things you might recognize here.

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, followed, or favorited recently! I hope you like the update, and have a happy St Patrick's Day. :)

* * *

**If Anyone Can Aid Me 'Tis My Brother in the Army**

"Are you sure that'll wash out?" Steve asked. "It's very…vivid." Though he'd known about Thor and Darcy's plan, he'd still been taken aback when Thor had swaggered in with his hair carrot red rather than his usual glowing blond.

"Darcy assured me it was temporary," Thor said confidently, shaking his new ginger locks proudly.

Steve wasn't so sure a color that intense could be temporary. "Sometimes I think we trust her too much."

"I would trust her with my life. My hair is much less important."

What she'd said was, "You're gonna stand out no matter what, bud. This will make you look less like yourself and more like you're just big into the holiday." The dye had smelled like weed killer and she'd had to wear gloves as she slathered it on his hair, but they were both pleased with the outcome.

Now he wore a green t-shirt featuring a cartoon leprechaun and the words "Get Lucky." "I think you'll fit right in," Steve said. "Ready?"

Thor pulled a plaid flannel shirt over his t-shirt, and Steve marveled yet again at his ability to withstand the cold. It wasn't quite spring yet, and there was still a chill in the air, though the day was bright and clear. Steve opted for a hoodie for warmth and a baseball cap (green, of course) for anonymity and they headed out.

It would be stupid to even try to drive, and neither of them minded walking, so they strolled the busy streets looking for a good place to watch the parade. "This Patrick was a saint, correct?" Thor asked as they walked. "So this is truly a holy day?"

"Yeah, he was a saint, but it's not so much a religious holiday anymore. Now it's just about celebrating Irish heritage." Steve looked around at the people passing, the usual kaleidoscope of metropolitan humanity. "Even if you don't technically have any Irish heritage."

"But what did Patrick do? How did he earn all this?" Thor waved his hand expansively, indicating the myriad shades of green around them.

Steve thought briefly, wondering how much of what he knew was myth and how much was fact. Darcy would know; if she were here she'd explain it perfectly, legend and archaeological evidence alike, with the right balance of humor. Words were so much easier for her than they were for him. But he had to try, because Thor was waiting. There was something about a shamrock…

"The one thing I remember is that he supposedly drove the snakes out of Ireland. That's why there are no wild snakes there today." Steve shrugged helplessly, but Thor nodded, a dark look on his face.

"The defeat of serpents is a worthy deed. I have had dealings with a serpent that were not as successful as Patrick's, so I must praise him for his achievement." There was definitely a story there, though apparently it was not one Thor felt like telling at the moment. He didn't look pleased by the memory of it, which Steve could understand if the snake had somehow beaten him. It would have to have been one hell of a big snake if that was the case.

Anyway, time to shift the subject to things less contentious and slithery. "You ever been to Ireland?" Steve asked as they stopped so Thor could get a hot dog.

Thor nodded, handing the seller a five. "Long ago." His "long ago"s were even longer ago than Steve's; Darcy had actually gotten angry when Thor had seen a picture of some ancient Viking treasure and said, "I remember that cup!" He shoved about half of the dog in his mouth and asked around it, "Have you?"

"Nah. But it looks nice, in the pictures I've seen."

"It is. It was," Thor amended, considering. "It has been many years since I visited." Steve tried to imagine Thor "visiting" anywhere, and the shock his sudden appearance, however affable, must have caused.

"My parents were born over there, but they never really talked about it. I got the feeling they didn't miss it much." He knew it couldn't all have been idyllic countryside, the way travel agents liked to portray it, with sheep grazing peacefully on perfect green hills. There were cities there, just like in the States, and crime and disease and hardship and poverty. He wished he knew why they'd left—wished they'd survived long enough for him to think to ask—but knowing why wouldn't change anything. And because they'd left, he'd been born and raised in the United States, and he'd forever be grateful to them for that.

"I remember a fierce people. Mighty warriors," Thor said, approvingly, "but also great artists." He clapped a hand on Steve's shoulder. "They would not be amazed to see all that you have achieved, my friend. In fact, they would expect nothing less."

Thor was always full of surprisingly insightful observations, but that didn't stop Steve from feeling a little choked up. "Thanks, pal. I appreciate it."

As they walked, Steve tried to remember what the holiday had been like during his youth. He couldn't remember anything this massive in Brooklyn. There were people everywhere, which wasn't saying much, given that it was New York; but these masses were much more festive than the usual crowds. They wore green like it was going out of style: shirts, pants, jacket, ties, scarves; face paint, plastic bowlers, headbands with glittery shamrocks on wobbly antennae, even hair dyed green. Much to Steve's relief, the two of them by no means stood out any more than usual, surrounded as they were by outlandish costumes. That wasn't to say that no one paid them any attention; Thor got plenty of questions about whether or not his hair was natural and if he was Irish and if he was a giant leprechaun. He laughed and posed for lots of pictures, which Steve happily snapped, using a variety of phones and cameras. As long as they acted more or less normal, they were safe, and Thor did his best to sound Midgardian. Luckily New York was such an eclectic city that people just tended to assume that Thor was a foreign tourist when he was out in public, and today so many people were already tipsy that no one would be likely to notice if he slipped up.

When they found an open spot on the sidewalk, they staked out a spot at the back of the crowd. As they waited for the parade to start, Steve heard someone ask, "Excuse me?" and looked over to see a woman gently touching Thor's arm. A girl, maybe six, with green bows in her tiny black braids, stood next to her. "Would you mind putting my granddaughter on your shoulders so she can see? I meant to get here earlier so we could get a closer spot, but…" She shrugged helplessly, looking at the crush of people around them.

"It would be my honor," Thor said. He crouched by the girl. "Is this agreeable to you, little one?"

She nodded, braids bouncing. Thor lifted her gently and placed her on his shoulders, then stood. The girl towered over the rest of the crowd and Steve saw her smile in delight at the view.

When the parade reached them, the street echoed with police sirens and bagpipes. There were politicians and bands and people dancing past. The crowd cheered wildly for the NYPD and the members of the armed forces and the veterans who marched by. Through it all the little girl bounced happily on Thor's shoulders, laughing and clapping; Thor himself was delighted with the spectacle and declared his love of it all several times. The whole thing did Steve's heart good.

When the parade was over Thor lifted the girl from his shoulders and placed her on the ground. They said their goodbyes; then Thor asked Steve, "What now?" Clearly, from the god's view, the festivities were not over by any means.

Steve looked around. There were probably plenty of things to do if they just wandered around to find them, and he said as much. They picked a direction and started walking.

"Where does one find a kilt?" Thor asked, spotting a piper.

"I don't know. I mean, you can get them in Scotland and Ireland, but I don't know about anywhere around here. Why, do you want one?"

"Do you think Jane would allow it?"

Steve shrugged. She'd let him dress up as a unicorn; a kilt couldn't be that bad. "I don't see why not. Darcy would have a field day, though." Darcy would love it, more than Steve cared to consider.

Music was spilling out of a bar ahead, and Thor gazed at it longingly. Part of Steve thought that it would be a waste to go in and drink overpriced beer that wouldn't have any effect on them, but the rest of him thought that it had been a long while since he'd sat in a bar with a friend, singing and drinking a little. He didn't want to remember the last time he'd done it, the way it seemed such a short time ago but was really half a lifetime. But this time would be different. With Thor there he wouldn't be able to be sad. It was impossible to even imagine it. So he nodded and was rewarded with a wide grin from his friend.

The bar was pretty full, though it was only early afternoon. A duo with guitars was playing in the far corner, barely audible above the din. Steve spied two open stools and moved to secure them, while Thor made his way to the bar to order. Beers obtained, he held them above his head as he made his way to where Steve sat. "Cheers," he said, hefting his glass and clinking it with Thor's.

"What do they say in Ireland?" Thor asked, and Steve hitched one shoulder up, mouth full of beer.

"_Sláinte_," offered a voice from a nearby table. Both of them turned, Thor's shoulders bumping Steve's, to see a man in a tweed flat cap hoist his own pint. There were no strangers to Thor, only friends or enemies he hadn't met yet, so he lifted his glass and repeated the toast. Then he introduced them and they met Joe and Frank and Heidi, who told them about their backpacking trip in Ireland the previous year. Steve saw Thor's eyes shining at the idea of walking across a country, and knew he'd have to talk the Asgardian out of trying to walk across the US. They chatted amiably, Thor full of questions (including where to buy a kilt) as usual; he was especially fascinated by the myths and legends. Of course he just loved hearing stories in general, but Steve made a mental note to ask him if he'd ever seen half of the creatures Joe described. Thor listened raptly to tales of Finn MacCool, from cooking the salmon of knowledge to the giant tearing up the causeway that led to Scotland when he saw the size of Finn's "son."

Steve excused himself to use the restroom as Frank went to buy the next round. When Steve returned his new beer tasted sweeter than the previous. He lifted an eyebrow; Thor winked conspiratorially. "I added a little something from home," he said, quietly as he knew how. Oh, boy. Steve had forgotten that there was still some of that mead floating around the Tower somewhere.

"You didn't…?" He nodded at the others, who were momentarily distracted by their phones. Thor shook his head and Steve sighed in relief, then immediately felt disappointed in himself. It was a holiday, for Pete's sake; he should be able to let go and stop worrying about things all the time. So he picked up his glass and chugged the meady beer. Thor whooped his approval, drawing the attention of nearby patrons.

"Thirsty?" Joe asked, eyes wide. Steve just smiled and nodded.

They chatted for a while longer until a group of revelers who looked scarcely old enough to drink noisily pushed their way into the bar. Joe and Frank exchanged looks and Heidi checked her cell phone. "We're going to move on," Frank said. "Want to join us?"

Steve glanced at Thor the ever-amenable. "Why not?" Thor tipped the rest of his beer into his mouth, and they gathered their coats to go.

The crowds outside seemed to be just as tipsy as the ones inside. Their progress was slow, though, as they kept getting stopped by girls wearing "Kiss Me I'm Irish" shirts and pins. They pointed to the words with flirty smiles and more often than not they were the ones doing the kissing, rising up on tiptoes to press their lips against Thor's cheeks or lips or whatever part of his face they could reach. Steve stood by, laughing, until one of them lunged toward him and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the lips. The girl's friends squealed and the others laughed, Thor's voice booming over the rest. Eventually her friends pulled her away and she slipped a string of green plastic beads from around her neck and over Steve's head. Then the girls stumbled down the street, waving over their shoulders at a grinning Thor and beet-faced Steve.

He tried to look sternly at Thor, but the twinkling of the other's eyes made him crack. "I'd ask you not to tell Darcy," he said, slinging an arm around Thor's shoulders, "but we both know that she'd do the same thing."

His arm rounded Steve's shoulders in return. "Correct, my captain."

Somehow, with the hip young person's unerring ability to find a good party, the others found an upstairs backroom bar that wasn't stuffed to capacity. A band, guitars and accordion and bodhrán, was playing a driving tune. Heidi went to the bar and ordered a round of whiskeys; Thor topped Steve's and his off with mead, and with a toast to Ireland and St. Patrick they all drank.

After that things got a little fuzzy for Steve. The mead-laced drinks, Thor's joy, and the general feeling of celebration and conviviality all had him feeling loose and happy. The music grew louder the longer they sat in the bar. Thor demanded to be taught the songs and Heidi ended up wedged between the two incognito Avengers, Thor's arm around reaching clear over her to rest on Steve's shoulders. A few of the songs sounded familiar to Steve, or at least felt like they should be familiar. In his mind, even beyond the memory of men singing to a jangly piano in a London pub, was a vague recollection of his mother humming in the kitchen. He could barely remember her face—in his mind she was turned away, stirring a pot over the stove with the sun behind her, leaving her featureless—but the voice was sure and steady.

Of course, he was sure she hadn't been humming "Whiskey in the Jar." Thor couldn't pick up any of the verses quick enough, but he could keep up with the chorus, and did so with gusto. It was a perfect drinking song, Steve thought as Frank brought around some concoction of Guinness, whiskey, and Irish cream; you could make up words to the chorus and no one would notice. He was sure Thor would be singing it for weeks, driving them all crazy, and he would probably have been right, but then the band started playing "Star of the County Down." It was all they could do to stop Thor from trying to get up and dance in the middle of the bar. He insisted that Heidi write the name down for him so that he could listen to it later, and, lacking any paper more substantial than bar napkins, she scrawled it down his forearm.

A few pints later the others decided to leave. Outside on the sidewalk they said their goodbyes; Thor, not content with mere handshakes, pulled them all into hugs. Then their new friends climbed into a cab and Thor and Steve waved as it drove off.

Thor picked a direction—despite the fact that he often saw things from above, his sense of direction was generally pretty trustworthy—and they started walking. When they were passing a deli Steve felt his pocket buzzing and stopped to pull out his phone, holding it between his ear and Thor's.

"Phillllll! How are ya?"

Coulson was inscrutable as always. "Steven. Are you drunk?"

"'Tis a feast-day, Coulson. It was necessary to toast Steven's forebears."

"Right. Did you gentlemen enjoy the parade?"

"Yeah, it was great." Thor described their day, hot dogs and all, and Coulson listened patiently. When Thor had finished, he asked,

"And what are you doing now?"

"Now we're goin' home and we're gonna buy a kilt on the internet."

Coulson was glad he hadn't been drinking anything when he heard that. "For whom?"

"Me!" Thor cried at the same time that Steve asked, "Who d'you think?"

"Do you not think such a garment would suit me well?" Thor asked.

"I can see it now," Coulson admitted. If any of them could pull it off, Thor could, easily. Coulson foresaw many, many _Braveheart_ references from Darcy and Barton.

Steve said, "It's okay, 'cause he's worn a dress before," as if that explained everything.

Shaking his head as he stood and pulled on his jacket, Coulson asked, "Do you need me to send a car?"

"Nah, we're almost there. Are you comin' over? You should come over." He sounded so young and guileless and happy that Coulson couldn't imagine refusing, although he'd planned to go straight home.

"Indeed, so we may drink together to the holy serpent conqueror." It took him a minute to work that one out as on the other end Thor grumbled loudly about the treachery of slithering creatures.

"I'll be there in thirty minutes."

"Good. That gives us time to get some food." Steve didn't hang up before Coulson heard him ask Thor, "How many sandwiches do you want, pal? 'Cause I want about eight."

Twenty-seven minutes later Coulson found them on the couch, beers in hand as Thor jabbed at the remote. Steve was wearing a tweed cap that Phil had never seen before, and Thor's hair was redder than Romanoff's. He also had something written on his arm in ballpoint pen. "Join us, Son of Coul," he commanded kindly.

"Yeah, c'mon, Phil," Steve said, patting the seat next to him. "We're watchin' a movie."

"What movie?" he asked blankly, moving toward the couch. He wondered if, in their slightly inebriated state, they'd actually managed to buy a kilt online and if so who'd paid for it (he hoped wistfully that they'd stolen one of Stark's credit cards), and furthermore, how much the large pile of corned beef sandwiches on the table had cost.

"It's about Irish guys fighting crime in Boston." That could be any number of movies, Coulson thought, most of which would scar Steve for life. "It's called..." he leaned sideways to look at the DVD case, "_Boondock Saints_. Tasha recommended it."

Of course she did.

He really shouldn't; he should take away the beers, warn them and put on something more suitable, like _Darby O'Gill and the Little People_, something that wouldn't cause Steve to fret about morality and inspire Thor to buy a black trench coat and sunglasses. But it was a holiday, sort of, and the smell of the sandwiches literally made his mouth water, and it would be worth it to see the look on Steve's face, and the debate about vigilantism that followed the film would certainly be one for the ages. He'd have to ask JARVIS to record that.

So he shucked his coat and tugged his tie loose. "Got any more beer?" Thor passed him a bottle as he sat, settling next to the Asgardian. Steve leaned across and offered the neck of his bottle for a toast; Thor touched his bottle to his, and Phil added his.

"A toast to your coffins," he said, and the other two looked at him quizzically, Steve's head cocked to one side like a confused golden retriever puppy. "May they be made of hundred-year-old oak, and may we plant the trees together tomorrow."

Grins appeared on both their faces, Thor's first and then Steve's, as they got it. "Same to you," Steve said, bumping his shoulder against Phil's.

"_Sláinte_," Thor said, and the three drank to many long years of friendship to come.


End file.
